Vhenan'ara
by Elshumkelate
Summary: When Lyna is forcibly removed from her clan and thrust in to the world of human politics and intrigue, she must learn to rely on the very people she was raised to hate in order to save her people from the Blight. Will she be able to trust the humans she accompanies? And how will she react when she realizes she has begun to fall for one?
1. Chapter 1

He hadn't known it at the time but the first time Alistair laid eyes on her, he had lost his heart forever.

The night before a messenger had appeared in the warden's encampment in the ruins of Ostagar. Duncan was sending word that he was bringing a young Dalish woman back to the order with him. The younger wardens had immediately begun taking bets on whether she would be some hideous barbarian girl or if she instead stood a chance of being vaguely pretty. And then if she were to be passable, who would be able to get the girl in bed first? After all, rumor had it that Dalish women were quite promiscuous. One of the wardens remarked that Dalish women were easy to bed precisely because they were always hideous, without exception, and would therefore take anything they could get. Another observed that it was likely because the chantry wouldn't touch their heathen ways with a ten foot pole, and thus allowed their sins to run amuck. A third warden followed up with a snide comment regarding the useful applications of ten foot poles. A chorus of drunken laughter filled the night as the men ate and drank around their camp fire. The older wardens simply exchanged weary yet apprehensive glances; there were likely to be many reprimands when Duncan finally arrived if the young woman were to be subject to any advances or untoward conversation. Poor virginal Alistair shifted uncomfortably as he nervously laughed along to hide his discomfort.

Once the men's merriment had died down, the messenger continued; Duncan had likely foreseen this behavior and thus would not be bringing the woman straight to the warden encampment. Better to see if she survived the joining before they worried about subjecting her to the louts he commanded. Instead he would be sending her straight to Alistair.

This piece of information sent the men sprawling on the ground with laughter. The one sitting next to Alistair jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow and cautioned him between guffaws that should he turn his back on the elf for even a second she was likely to tackle him to the ground and rob him of his virtue in the middle of the ruined fortress for all to see. At this, Alistair's face burned a bright red and he found himself sputtering for a moment as the men's hilarity returned with renewed vigor. Finally having had enough, he had wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders and stomped away from the wardens' campfire towards his bed roll. He did not have to stand for this abuse, and so he wouldn't.

The night had passed without further incident and he now stood before a woefully disgruntled mage, receiving an earful about his glibness. Alistair had been cornered by the Revered Mother sometime mid-morning and sent on an "urgent mission" to track down one of the mages for her. He now found himself the target of said mage's frustrations with his current lot in life. When the mage finally stalked off in a huff, he smirked and commented to no one in particular, "You know, one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together…"

He chuckled to himself and shook his head as he turned to leave. He nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing a rather feral looking woman leaning against a pillar less than five feet away. Maker, he'd be dead by now if she had been a darkspawn! Well…assuming that for some unholy reason he had managed not to feel the pull of the taint that near to his person. She was petite, almost comically so next to him. Her hair was a deep chestnut color, glinting with hints of gold and red in the midday sun and coming to just below her chin, while small braids hung down at regular intervals around her head. Her eyes were the most intriguing shade of green-gold hazel he could ever remember encountering, framed by long lashes and a delicate brow that Alistair would usually have attributed to nobility. But she was far too savage in her dress and serpentine in her stance to have ever seen the inside of an Arl's keep, and the swirling tattoo across her brow would have sent even the most worldly chantry priest sprinting for her alter. "Andraste's flaming knickers, you startled me!" he breathed out as he attempted to regain his bearings. He glanced down and quickly swallowed back the urge to stare at her rather revealing leathers, forcing his eyes back to her face with all of the effort he could muster in the moment.

She looked him once over, her shrewd gaze quickly analyzing every detail. She seemed to have assessed his entire being in the space of an instant, coming to the conclusion that he posed her not real threat, and relaxed her stance a little. "You are a very strange shemlen…" she observed in a thick brogue accent-and rather bluntly too, he noticed. He took one last breath to settle his racing heart.

"I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?" he asked cautiously. He was suddenly weary that he was about to tick off someone else. Maker knew he was already going to be chastised by Duncan when he heard about the preceding encounter.

Her lips twitched with vague amusement and she responded, "Would that make your day worse?"

He immediately felt like a fool again when he took a second look at her tattoos…her decidedly Dalish tattoos…He slapped a palm to his forehead; the Dalish recruit. "Blast! I should have recognized you right away. I apologize."

The humor departed her face as she gave him a quizzical look, "How could you recognize me? We've never met before."

Her alto voice lent a sultry effect to its sing-song quality, and it made her untamed features all the more haunting. Duncan had forgotten to mention she was pretty, very pretty in fact. So pretty actually, that pretty was doing her a disservice. Though, Alistair somehow suspected that, were he to inform her of the direction his thoughts had taken, he would quickly find himself on the wrong end of one of those nasty looking daggers at her waist. At that he squared his shoulders and decided to start over and behave like a normal human being. "I'm sorry, my name is Alistair, I'm one of the Grey Wardens. The youngest in fact—of the grey wardens, I mean. Or is that the newest? I don't think I actually know all the ages of the other wardens, now that I think about it…" So much for normal, he thought as he noticed he had begun rambling and quickly cut himself off before he made and even bigger ass of himself. Yup, definitely forgot the pretty part, and it was tripping up his self-control. Now if only he could dislodge his foot from his mouth. "As the, uh…_junior_ member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

Her lips were quirked up a little in the corner again and she nodded in acknowledgement of his point, mercifully pretending to have not noticed his incoherence. "My name is Lyna." She replied.

"Well," he said, sucking in a quick breath. "I imagine Duncan is eager to get things started. Shall we gather up your fellow new recruits?" He was eager to leave his awkward bumbling behind.

"Ma nuvenin," _as you wish _she responded, rather more forcefully than he had anticipated, and Alistair found himself somewhat stung that she found his company so laborsome. She pushed herself up from the pillar she had occupied and wavered slightly upon becoming vertical. She closed her eyes and grasped the pillar for balance before taking a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, hesitation clear in his voice. It was then that he took notice of the slightly sallow tint around her mouth and eyes. It might have concerned him more had she not just let him know his presence was tiresome, but he could not keep himself from feeling at least a little concerned…proper upbringing, you know.

"Yes…" she paused before releasing her breath. "Yes, I'm fine; eager to get going."

Alistair huffed a little to himself. Very well, if she was so keen on being rid of his presence he would dispense with the niceties. At length they found Ser Jory who maintained polite deportment, though Alistair could sense the man's curiosity and slightest sense of superiority to the elf beside him.

"Greetings," Ser Jory bowed to them both in all his haughty knightly-ness, though when he straightened himself he eyed the Dalish with more than a little skepticism. "You must be the third recruit we heard about." Lyna raised an eyebrow and assessed the knight with the same speedy calculation she did Alistair. "Not a great deal…but we _have_ been waiting for your arrival" he quickly assured her as he his eyes turned away, a vague betrayal of his distaste at having been kept waiting by some knife ear evident in his voice. Lyna's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at his tone, but still didn't reply. He closed his eyes and sighed at what he assumed was her ignorance, and his voice took on a tone of mild condescension, as if he couldn't believe he was explaining his own importance to someone no better than a slave. "Ser Jory is my name. I hail from Redcliff where I serve as a knight under the command of Arl Eamon." His eyes shifted back to Lyna. "I was not aware that they permitted women to join the Grey Wardens…"

"Ir abelas," _I'm sorry,_ she demanded. "Is that going to be a problem for you Ser Knight?" Her eyes narrowed further as she crossed her arms and awaited the older man's reply.

Ser Jory paused and regarded Lyna again for a long while, clearly weighing his possible responses. While it was likely he didn't want to cause problems, it was obvious to Alistair that Ser Jory knew little to nothing of the elves beyond those that had served his liege in Redcliff. Alistair himself didn't know much about the Dalish, but he was well-read enough to know that they were an extremely proud people and held humans in great disregard for the continued subjugation of their people. And they certainly did not take kindly to men like Ser Jory. In reality, Alistair was impressed that she had yet to say more on Ser Jory's pride than she had already implied.

At length, Ser Jory finally replied, "You've obviously impressed Duncan, and that's enough for me. I hope we are both lucky enough to eventually join the Grey Wardens. Is it not thrilling to be given that chance?" Clearly he meant to remind Lyna that she was being elevated above the station of second class citizen and therefore needed to behave with more reverence. That did not please her at all.

"I would not be here if I had been given the choice, Shem." She bit back, her patience obviously tested and close to failing.

Ser Jory sighed and shook his head, as if he were dealing with a petulant child and decided not to answer the implied provocation. He turned to Alistair and continued, "I suppose since you're finally here, I'd best get back to Duncan. I shall see you there." And with that he left.

Lyna watched his departure with great distaste. "Ignorant shem…" Alistair heard her mutter, though it was unlikely that she meant it to be loud enough for Alistair to hear.

"I…apologize for Ser Jory's behavior. He will become accustomed to treating you as an equal with time. I assure you that Duncan will not allow it to continue once the Joining is complete." She seemed to accept that with a huff of frustration before Alistair turned and silently lead her towards the next recruit.

Upon finding Daveth it became quite clear that, unlike Ser Jory, a person's heritage was of little to no consequence to the man, so long as it came in an attractive package. In fact, it was obvious to Alistair that Daveth may have even considered himself something of a lady's man, assuming of course that those ladies made a living with their god given assets…Lyna on the other hand was having none of it, and her earlier encounter with Ser Jory had set her pride and her temper on edge.

"Well, you're not what I thought you'd be…" the thief declared, his eyes appraising her body with lurid intent. Alistair felt the elf beside him tense and glanced her direction to see her eyes narrow. He had definitely been right to keep his mouth shut about her looks earlier.

"Oh really?" she sneered and then her voice became dangerously quiet. "And what exactly did you think I'd be, shem?" It was maybe a harsher reaction than Daveth was due, but then she had already been tested once by human propriety…or lack thereof. Alistair noticed her hand slowly moving towards one of her daggers.

"Certainly not a woman, but…" his eyes continued to roam appreciatively, either ignorant or unmoved by the implied threat. "Here you are," the last part dripped with suggestion and smarm, and Alistair cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to remind the man that there were others listening to this exchange…also, he didn't particularly want the man's blood on his conscious, should he choose to continue. "Right, name's Daveth," he continued to Lyna. Turning to face Alistair straight on, he continued, "Shall I assume that your sudden appearance means Duncan is ready to send us to our deaths?"

Alistair rolled his eyes, "If Duncan was planning on sending you to your death, I hardly think he would have dragged your sorry carcass from the Denerim prison he found you in."

"You never know, what with all the secrets swirling about this place," Daveth countered. "Very well, lead the way; let's have this ritual over with." With that, Daveth fell in line beside Lyna, continuing his obvious perusal of her person.

"Ma emma harel, len'alas lath'din."_You should fear me, dirty child whom no one loves,_ she swore, practically hissing, before quickening her pace to put Alistair between her and the licentious pig. She then turned to him, fire in her eyes, "I do not wish to offend Duncan by killing his other recruits, but just know that while I will suffer Jory's palpable ignorance, and this one will be dead by morning if this continues."

Alistair couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his chest, but he quickly choked it back when he saw her eyes flash. "I am sorry. Truly, I am; I've just been waiting for someone to put him in his place since he arrived." She didn't respond right away and so Alistair stole another sidelong glance and was pleased to observe the upturned corner of her mouth, though her glower stayed firmly in place as she spotted Ser Jory waiting for them a few meters from Duncan's position.

They found Duncan keeping company with a couple of the Warden Lieutenant Commanders around the bon fire in the center of the camp, discussing tactics for the upcoming battle. The conversation died as the small band approached and Duncan nodded to his companions in a request for privacy. They nodded in return and departed without a sound. Alistair noted that the youngest of the men looked at him and then glanced meaning fully at the elf before returning to him with a suggestive smirk. Alistair groaned. Apparently last night's conversation had not been forgotten.

"Ah, Alistair, I see you have all the recruits. I'll assume you are ready to begin preparations…assuming you're finished riling up mages." Alistair winced. He'd known he would be reprimanded, as Duncan had lectured the wardens at length about the need to play nice and get along with everyone in the camp.

"The Revered Mother ambushed me!" Alistair's excuse sounded whiney even to his own ears. "The way she wields guilt, they should stick _her_ in the army."

Duncan's brow lowered over his dark eyes in consternation, "And she forced you to sass the mage did she?"

Alistair pouted and apologized as Duncan lectured again about the necessity of avoiding more attention than was necessary…something about ammunition. Duncan then turned to face the recruits and began outlining the tasks before them. Alistair was a little surprised at the second task, unaware that the Grey Wardens could demand the support of Ferelden's races simply by flashing around a centuries old piece of paper. All the same, whether they needed the support or not after tomorrow's battle, those papers would still be invaluable somewhere down the line, he was sure.

At that, Duncan pulled Alistair aside, out of ear shot of the recruits. "Alistair, watch over your charges and return quickly and safely…particularly Lyna."

Alistair was taken aback by the concern in the senior warden's voice. He glanced over to see Daveth scooting closer to her in another attempt to woo the fiery woman. He spoke quietly to her, obviously much too close for her like and quickly found a knife pressed threateningly against his throat before the elf shoved him away hard and moved to the other side of the bonfire and the only slightly preferable company of Ser Jory. "Uh…Duncan, I don't mean to question orders, but of the three Lyna seems to be the most capable. If anything, I find myself more concerned for Daveth."

Duncan huffed out a little air in what amounted to a silent chuckle, "I have no doubt that she can more than protect herself from unwanted advances." His expression returned to its earlier stoicism as he watched her waver on her feet from the mild exertion. "But she is ill, poisoned by the darkspawn. She has proved far too stubborn to show it, but I have noticed her grow weaker throughout our journey here. Her keeper says she is a fierce warrior but in time it will take her all the same. The joining is her only chance for a cure, but in her weakened state, I do not know that it isn't as much a death sentence as leaving her would have been." Duncan sighed and redirected his gaze back to Alistair. "The darkspawn took her clansmen when the two of them encountered the beasts, and though she will most likely not speak of it, she is grieving heavily. She is likely to seek some form of vengeance in the wilds, but do not allow her to over exert herself, if you can. I fear that wasted energy in the wilds will negatively impact her joining."

Alistair's earlier irony had by this time given way to dead seriousness and he nodded his agreement to Duncan, his eyes still following the elf. Suddenly it all clicked together, the sallow tint to her skin, her seeming short temperedness with him, despite his kindness and joviality towards her, even her overly harsh reaction to Daveth's initial advance. He had originally taken her to be cold, calculating and…well, a bitch. Alistair knew only a little of what darkspawn poisoning looked like or was supposed to do to a person, but he now realized that she must be incredibly strong to be hiding it so well. Were he in the same circumstances, he doubted he would be half as otherwise open and friendly as she was being.

"Maker watch over your path, Alistair. I will see you when you return."


	2. Chapter 2

"It's beautiful," Tamlen said as he approached the mirror, though Lyna caught his sidelong glance in her direction and blushed a little. He smiled at her and then turned back to the mirror. "Isn't it? I wonder what the writing says."

Lyna couldn't help her dry sense of humor, looking at the entirely-too-clean artifact sitting in the middle of the old dusty, _haunted_ ruin. "Don't touch the glass?"

Tamlen chuckled. "Not that we'd leave a finger print on it. See how clean it is? Not a single smudge or crack. In a place like this, there has to be some sort of magic protecting it."

_Thank you captain obvious_, Lyna mused to herself as she rolled her eyes, but Tamlen was far too engrossed with his query to note her reaction as he walked around the strange artifact, examining it. Lyna smirked at his behavior. Tamlen was far too interested in history and lore and artifacts for his own good. His penchant for the lost knowledge of the ancients was precisely the reason they had ended up down here without any one to back them up if things went wrong. _As they tend to around Tamlen_, she thought. One day his boundless curiosity would do them all in.

"I wonder what this writing is for," he mused to himself as he crouched to read the writing at the base of the mirror. "Maybe this isn't-Hey! Did you see that?" he shot back to his feet, something having clearly caught his eye. "I think something moved inside the mirror…" He explained turning to look at her.

Lyna's hackles were immediately raised. They'd both felt uncomfortable since entering the ruin and even Tamlen had mentioned feeling like they had disturbed something in this place. "Get away from it Tamlen!" she suddenly urged, a seemingly irrational fear gripping her mind.

He waved away her concern. "Hold on, I just want to know what it is," he replied turning back to study something that was very clearly not his reflection in the mirror. "Don't you see it? There it is again! Can you feel that? I think it knows we're here," He babbled, glancing back to her again. His boyish excitement might have been catching at any other time. As it was, Lyna was twitching with the anxious need to grab him and be anywhere else. "It's…showing me places! I can see…some kind of city…underground? And…there's a great blackness," he said, sounding concerned by the final observation. Suddenly his voice became fearful and panicked. "It…it saw me. Help!"

"_Tamlen_!?" She cried

"I can't look away!" he screamed.

"_TAMLEN!"_ She yelled, rushing forward to try and grab him away from the mirror. It was too late.

All of a sudden a bright light exploded from the mirror and Lyna was forcibly thrown back against the wall behind her. She felt her head crack against the stone wall and the bright white that had invaded her vision quickly faded to black as a concussion overtook her.

Lyna was brooding, and she knew it. Nothing good would come from her continuing to punishing herself over the Tamlen's disappearance…but it was extremely difficult to push the memory from her mind so long as the poison pulsed through her veins. Lyna's body felt as if she was on fire. Her hands and feet were constantly being assailed by tiny, painful pin pricks as if there was not enough blood reaching them, and her stomach churned as if she had drunk and entire aravel full of spirits. Her head throbbed like she had too. It had taken her and Duncan a day and a half to hike their way out of the Brecilian Forest, and upon reaching Gwaren he had decided that she needed rest, though she had insisted she was fine, despite what was an increasingly severe headache at that time. Standing still for more than a few minutes gave her too much time to think about everything she had just lost; not only her childhood friend and a man she had been surprised to find herself having feelings for, but also Ashalle, who had been a mother to her and better, and of course her entire clan. She had never known anyone outside of them and she had never known another life…and now it was all gone. She had more than once slammed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened, but not once had she let Duncan see it. She could not reveal her heart to a shem, and certainly not to one she had only just met. Keeper Marethari may have trusted the man, but Lyna had no reason to do so yet.

The next morning, Duncan purchased two horses from a man on the outskirts of the city. They were clearly not the great and powerful beasts the human tales spoke of, and she found herself longing for the grace and speed of the halla the moment they set out. By now her stomach had begun roiling and her headache had gone from severe to debilitating. They rode hard for the next two days and Lyna was surprised that the horses had not fallen out from beneath them when they reached Ostagar late their second night on the road. As it was, she was not about to complain; the ride had been hard on her body, but she was increasingly aware of her failing health. The tingling had set in on the morning of their second day of riding and it came in waves, sometimes so bad that she couldn't even feel the reins in her grasp. When they arrived at Ostagar, the healer in the mage's encampment, Wynne, had immediately set to work treating her symptoms after speaking briefly with Duncan. It was not as effective as Keeper Marethari's magic had been, but it took the edge off her pain. She had then been given a few healing potions and instructed to rest as much as possible until Duncan called for her again.

Now, Lyna watched in her peripheral vision as Duncan removed Alistair from the group. After a moment their eyes shifted to her and she knew instantly they discussed the poison slowly making its way through her body. She groaned a little in frustration; she did not like her weakness being communicated to strangers she did not trust…or at all, really, but she supposed that in this case it was necessary to the safety of the group.

Hot breath glided across her neck and she tensed, suddenly unable to focus on anything but Daveth's unctuous presence behind her.

"So, any last wishes I can help you fulfill?" He asked.

She turned enough to watch him out of the corner of her eye and could practically feel his gaze as it slithered over her skin, lingering at her chest and where the leather straps of her armor's skirt parted to reveal her upper thighs. Her fingers itched to reach for her blades, but she was aware that Duncan would likely be displeased if she murdered one of his recruits, especially right in front of him. She gritted her teeth as the flare of anger caused her vision to swim. "Ar'din nuvenin na'din, Shem," _I don't want to kill you,_ she hissed. "Kindly step away or you will find yourself in a world of pain."

Daveth seemed to doubt her ability to do as she said and reached up to run a finger along the low cut collar of her leather breastplate as he leaned in and lowered his voice further. "Life is fleeting you know…that pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow…"

Suddenly he clenched his jaw as Lyna grabbed his hand and twisted hard, locking the joint, and her knife flashed with lightning speed as it was appeared against his jugular. "I said…step _away_." She breathed dangerously.

"My," he replied through his teeth, struggling to keep the pain from his voice as a small rivulet of blood trickled down his neck. "But aren't you a saucy little minx."

Lyna growled and twisted his wrist further before using her leverage to shove him away before slamming the dagger back in to its sheath and stalking to the other side of the fire next to Ser Jory.

Ser Jory, who up until now had only been aware that his rather lecherous compatriot had been attempting to proposition her, watched her in shock. She unexpectedly turned on him, sparks igniting in her gaze.

"Something to add Ser knight?" She spat.

"No, no!" He replied, quickly redirecting his gaze and rushing to escape her wrath. "You were within your right, my lady. You'll hear no arguments from me."

The heat in her blood fizzled out, and suddenly her world tilted in the absence of the adrenaline that had sustained her a moment ago. She wobbled slightly but quickly caught herself before she fell and took in a few quick breaths to calm her body. She cursed the feebleness and gazed in to the fire, awaiting Alistair's return and willing Daveth to stay as far from her as he could.

When Alistair returned, his gaze wandered over her for a moment, worry evident in his eyes, before he addressed all three of them. "Alright, shall we head out?"

Lyna nodded her agreement as Ser Jory made some unnecessarily grand statement about being more than ready to finally meet his fate. Lyna only rolled her eyes before righting herself and walking past the others towards the gates that would grant them access to the wilds, glaring at Daveth as she went.

They had only walked for maybe an hour before coming across a small band of darkpawn and Lyna bared her teeth in a predatory grin as she slowly unsheathed her Dar'Misu blades. She reveled in the light pleasing weight of the blades in her hand, and for a moment her pain subsided and her mind cleared as every fiber of her being focused on the fight. She lowered herself in to a crouch and shifted her feet, feeling the solid, grassy ground beneath them. Her eyes narrowed, focusing in on her first target. Her body tensed and she felt her tendons tighten in preparation for the pounce. Then something snapped, like a mousetrap releasing, and she sailed through the air towards her prey, her battle cry frightening and terrible and somewhere in the back of her mind she perceived the horrified reactions of her companions. She didn't care. Her query was before her and her knives were seeking their target of their own volition. Tamlen's face was plastered squarely to the front of her mind. They would pay; they would all pay, one way or another, for destroying her happiness. She smiled with murderous glee as her daggers sunk in to either side of the genlock's neck, just above the collar bone. It gurgled and spit as they severed its throat. It was dead before it hit the ground.

The next one received barely a second's worth of her thoughts as she dashed before it, swiping her dagger across its neck in a clean, precise decapitation. Behind her, the head lolled off the back of the body and the rest of the corpse stood half suspended in air before it dropped to its knees and then fell forward, meeting the ground with a wet thump.

She whirled around and locked on to her next target, a Hurlock archer standing a little too close to the fray for its own good. She was on top of it in a second, blindly letting her blades fly in her grief and rage. Never before had she felt so much morbid delight in the taking of a life, never before had she found satisfaction in the idea of a last breath gracing her presence. She sliced and hacked and stabbed at the hurlock, unaware that all around her the fighting had died down and that she was being watched with trepidation by men she barely knew.

At length the fire that clouded her vision and her judgment died and she noted that the body she was mutilating had long since ceased to fight back. She stopped and stared at it for a moment before she dropped her weapons to her side and took in what had happened during her violent tear. All around her, darkspawn lay dead. There had only been seven or so, and she had felled three of them in her mad frenzy. That seemed a high ratio even to her and she risked a glance back at her companions. All three of them stood and gawked at her in horror. She felt a pang of guilt for the rampage, but her own reaction only served to bolster her stubborn pride. Who was she to feel ashamed that her prowess outweighed theirs? This is what they had come here to do, was it not? Darkspawn were dead, no matter the means used to make them so. Perhaps she had spent more of her wrath on the beasts than they were worth, but she could not find it in herself to regret it. She turned her face away from their stunned expressions and sheathed the daggers. She would not regret it.

Lyna rolled back on the balls of her feet to stand up and then without warning she watched as the twilight sky curled back further beyond her vision than she had anticipated. The ground beneath her became the horizon before her and her hand came up to cover her eyes as she stumbled to find solid terrain. She was surprised to feel a supporting hand press against her back, and as if at the hand's order, the world righted itself. She gave her head a quick shake and blinked her eyes in rapid succession to banish the dizziness before looking back to see who had steadied her. Behind her Alistair stood, his expression clouded with anxiety.

"Are you alright?" He questioned as he removed his hand and stepped back, still apprehensive after the display he had witnessed.

She pursed her lips and rolled her shoulders before she responded. "Yes, I am fine. Shall we continue?" Earlier in the day she would have expected him to be offended by her shortness, but now armed with the knowledge of her condition he just nodded.

"Perhaps it would be better for you to stick to using your bow for this particular assignment." While the words should have communicated a suggestion, his eyes and tone of voice made it clear that it was an order, and as the only true grey warden in their company he held rank. Lyna nodded and drew her bow from its place at her back.

A few yards away movement caught there eye. Pinned beneath a darkspawn corpse, a man lay injured. As they approached they heard him call out, "Who's there…? Are you…Grey Wardens?" He choked back his agony and continued when they drew close. "We were attacked…darkspawn…they came out of the ground! Please help me; I've got to…return to camp…"

They exchanged looks. Ser Jory's expression became panicked, but it was Daveth who spoke, "We could bandage him up. It's a bit far to walk him all the way back to camp though."

"Please Sers, just the bandages…If you'll help me wrap my wounds…I can make my own way back."

Lyna had her doubts that he would make it that far with the amount of blood he had lost, but before she had the chance to voice the thought white hot pain streaked through her and she was reminded just how short her remaining time might be. "We don't have time for this," she grumbled as she stepped over the man's prone body.

"I have some bandages in my pack," He said. His cold tone was clearly directed towards her and she heard it soften as he redirected his focus to the man at his feet. "Please, try to hold still."

When the man was on his way, the group became deathly quiet, the reality of what they faced sinking in. Of the four of them, however, it was Ser Jory who could no longer hold his tongue. "Didn't you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

Lyna ground her teeth in frustration, for all his earlier posturing around his obvious superiority, he was quickly proving to be quite useless. "Yes, we heard him just as clearly as you did, _Ser_," she bit out, hoping to remind him of the title he held so dear and thereby shut down his craven moaning.

Alistair shot her a disapproving look and quickly tried to calm the frightened man. "It's alright Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful." It seemed to achieve the opposite effect.

"Those men were careful and they were still overwhelmed!" he cried, gesturing towards the bodies spread out around them. "How many darkspawn can the four of us slay, a dozen, maybe a hundred? There's an entire army in that forest!"

Alistair lowered his voice and made his tone as light and soothing as possible. "There are darkspawn about, it's true, but we're in no danger of walking in to the bulk of the hoard."

"How do you know?" Jory snapped, his arms flying about as he spoke. "I'm not a coward but this is foolish and reckless!"

Lyna scoffed from her position a few feet away. She knew she was being rude, but between the ache in her bones and the man's insufferable complaining, she was losing her patience. "You sound like a coward to me-"

Alistair cut her off abruptly. "Know this," he paused, pointedly making eye contact with all three of them. "All grey wardens can sense the darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee you that they won't take us by surprise."

"You see, Ser Knight?" Apparently Daveth must have been reaching his wits end with Ser Jory as well, because his voice dripped with sarcasm. "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

Lyna snorted. For all her dislike of the man, Daveth at least shared her distaste for the knight. There was a tense moment between the two men before Jory muttered, "That is very…reassuring."

Alistair, sensing the uneasy truce, interjected before further conflict could arise. "Let's get a move on, shall we?" He didn't wait for an answer before stepping out in front of them and continuing their trek.

They seemed to walk for miles and miles before Alistair finally called for a halt. The last vestiges of daylight were dwindling as the four companions made camp. They had been in the wilds for quite a while now and could have collected enough darkspawn blood to perform twenty joinings, but the Grey Warden's cache had continued to elude them and it seemed the search would have to continue the next day. There were only a couple more ruins to search and they could see at least one in the distance, but Lyna was growing ever weaker and so Alistair had called a halt to their relentless march despite her protests. They had set up a small fire and upon finishing their meal of stale bread Alistair sent Jory and Daveth to take the first watch.

He now settled himself next to Lyna before their humble campfire and watched her intently. His gaze was not apprehensive, critical or pitying, it simply was, but before long the scrutiny left her just the slightest bit uncomfortable. She shifted awkwardly and found herself asking, "Why are you staring?"

Alistair blinked and shrugged as he turned his gaze away from her, familiar enough with her directness now to not take it personally. "Duncan told me what you've been through..." he trailed off.

"I suspected as much," she replied poking absentmindedly at the fire.

There was a pause, as if he was unsure if he should continue with such a sensitive subject. "How are you feeling?"

She was a little taken aback by his concern; no shemlen ever showed an ounce of disquiet for her people, although from what she was learning about the humans Alistair appeared to be an exception to the rule. She considered her answer for a moment; she was not ready to tell him about the nausea, the blinding headache, the tingling extremities or the burning sensations that wracked her person…but she did realize she had been short with him earlier and that it had offended him. She didn't like Daveth or Ser Jory in the slightest, but Alistair had been thoughtful and polite since she arrived. He deserved better than to be brushed off. "I…have been better," she begrudgingly offered.

Alistair sighed, knowing the admission was a concession on her part, but it wasn't making his job easy. "Listen…Duncan charged me with your safety and your health, such as it is…" He chewed his lip as he ruminated on his next sentence. "Will you at least promise to tell me if you need something? I know it's horribly embarrassing in front of manly stalwart men like Ser Jory," that earned him a little snort of laughter. "But I would rather carry you around the wilds on my back than return to Duncan without you."

She poked at the fire a few more times, debating how much she could let her guard down with him, before she answered. "The healer in camp sent a few healing potions with me. Would you fetch one from my pack? I'm afraid that if I try to stand up, I may fall over."

Alistair's face brightened exponentially as he leapt up and walked over to grab her pack. Lyna felt a little unnerved in the face of such radiant good will. It was the first time she had seen the like since leaving her clan and she was not sure what to do with it. Her shock must've been evident because when he sat back down and handed her the pack he said with a sly grin, "You know, we shemlen aren't _all_ bad."

She blushed as she took the pack and quickly downed one of the tinctures. "Ma serannas," _thank you, _she replied quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ Alright, this chapter is a bit shorter as it was a bit of a challenge for me. I struggled with whether or not to include the scene where you meet Morrigan. While I included the introduction of minor characters in the first chapter, the purpose of doing so was to establish Lyna's character, not theirs, and once I finished writing the scene with Morrigan, I realized you weren't gaining any new information about Lyna, so I decided to scrap it._

_Now, I __really__ like Flemeth. She's very intriguing and mysterious if you follow her development over the entire dragon age franchise, (novels, comics, etc.) but it frustrates me that, in DA2, you get a sense that she has a long history with keeper Marethari's clan and yet the Dalish warden interacts with her in exactly the same way as the others. Part of me wants to jump in to "Oh, Asha'bellanar!" and the other part realizes how much that screws up the second encounter with Flemeth. Still, it seems silly that the Dalish warden wouldn't know her. Also, I have plans for Flemeth…they are in the distant future, but it still requires an in depth introduction now._

_Lastly, if you like what you are reading, please leave a review, especially if you want to see more. If you feed the muse, she works much faster. :-)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine, don't sue._

* * *

Daveth and Ser Jory were mercifully quiet as they followed behind the so called Witch of the Wilds. Though Alistair supposed he had little place to be irritated by a person's penchant for chatter, Morrigan had already proven to be somewhat testy, and for the moment he preferred to stay on her good side. Lyna's gate had become more and more unsteady as time went by, her gait growing smaller, her eyes blearier and her response time longer. Truly, he was beginning to worry for his own safety every time she nocked another arrow. Though she was more willing to admit when she needed to stop for a rest, she maintained her taciturn state. He'd been able to wrestle a snort of laughter from her here and there throughout their travel, and so he was lead to believe she was in far greater agony that she would ever let on, but he was beginning to worry that her mood was closer to her natural state than he liked. He didn't want to dwell on the possibility of spending the next thirty years with this sad sack. Sure, he could probably make a game of it eventually, if he tried really, _really_ hard…but there was no point in borrowing trouble that he did not yet have, so for the present he settled on attempting to bring some light to her day.

When they reached the rickety half-timbered hut Morrigan and her mother called home, Alistair was a little surprised that it managed to go unnoticed. Sure, it was obscured along the back side by trees and it was nestled up alongside another one of the Wild's forgotten ruins, but from their approach it still seemed to be sitting out in the open for all to see. It wasn't until they drew closer that he began to sense something else at work. His templar senses tingled as he sensed a thick fog of entropic magic surrounding the place—some disorientation magic, possibly a misdirection hex—and it was all he could do not cleans the area before moving any closer. Still, he suspected that Morrigan was quite powerful and it stood to reason that her mother was equally if not more so. He had a lot of faith in his skills as a warrior and a templar, but he strongly doubted he could manage to smite both witches after performing the cleansing. He risked a glance in Lyna's direction to see if she would be of much use if a fight broke out. Her unfocused gaze swung from side to side, no doubt very effected by the magic swirling about the. The three men were likely on their own if violence ensued. Brilliant.

Before them, Alistair was now able to make out the woman who was likely Morrigan's mother. She was elderly, as was to be expected, and looked as if she was likely to succumb to death with the drop of a hat between her sunken eyes and cheeks and the way her willowy arms practically seemed to bend with the wind. Her gaze was cast skyward as if listening to secrets that sailed along the winds and waited for them to bring her eyes the evidence of their truth. Suddenly her gaze was upon them and he felt a wave of unease settle over him, as if his soul were being laid bare before evils gods who now plotted him a new and sinister path that he had no power to change. It brought him up short and he found himself nearly too fearful to move further.

"Mother!" Morrigan called once they were within range. "I bring before you four grey wardens who—."

"I see them girl!" the old witch bit out, and Alistair was a bit surprised when Morrigan didn't have a snippy come back. "Yes, much as I expected…" she trailed off.

Alistair could not help the snort that escaped his throat. She certainly was a loon, he decided, but to his mind that made her even more dangerous than he had already assumed she would be. He swallowed the snort, but couldn't quite remove the skepticism from his voice. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?"

The old witch answered him without pause and without reaction. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe." She replied before a smile that seemed a touch mad graced her recessed features. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide…either way one's a fool!"

Alistair simply had no response. What was he supposed to say to a woman who had clearly knocked loose a few of her marbles and could flay you alive with her mind? Of course none of these thoughts seemed to concern Daveth.

"She's a witch I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!" Alistair groaned a little. He really needed to hit the man before he landed them all in the stew he was so concerned about. How could the man be so calm in the face of darkspawn, brazenly so, and yet here he was cowering before a woman who thus far had not raised a hand or a thought against them. Not that Alistair was prepared to take his chances.

In a rare moment of intelligence it was Ser Jory who spoke up. "Quiet Daveth! If she really is a witch, do you want to make her mad?" He hissed between his teeth.

"There's a smart lad," the hag responded, though Alistair distinctly doubted Ser Jory had meant for her to hear him. She considered Ser Jory for a moment and agains Alistair got the sense that she was looking at the twists and turns of the knight's doom before she shrugged as if dismissing his existence all together. "Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

_Decides what?_ Alistair practically demanded, but the witch's attention had suddenly settled on Lyna who was propping herself up against a headless statue a couple of yards behind them. A wave of rabid protectiveness flooded his mind as he quickly walked back to her side, snaking a supporting arm around her waist.

"And what of you?" Flemeth asked as she narrowed her eyes in shrewd consideration of the feverish woman, her voice quieter and more thoughtful than it was a second earlier. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as these boys do?"

"I'm not…sure what to believe…" Lyna struggled, her eyes firmly planted on the ground. Alistair almost demanded that the witch remove the disorientation spell that was wreaking havoc on Lyna's already compromised senses, but the old crone wasn't done speaking and his own thoughts were too slow and too confused to interject before she continued.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware…" She quoted, and for a second the half mad glint returned to her haggard eyes. "Or is it oblivious? I can never remember." She smirked a little at her own humor before her gravity returned. And then there was that same sense of having your armor stripped away and your insides read like evil tea leaves or tarot cards. "So much about you is uncertain…and yet I believe. Do I? Why, I believe I do." And there was the crazy again.

Since his previous outburst, Jory had remained silent, but apparently the carzy was beginning to be too much for him as well. Unlike Alistair, however, Ser Jory couldn't sense the magic that thickened the air like soup, and so he lacked the same defenses against the confusion that now loosened his tongue. "So this is a dreaded witch of the wilds…"

Alistair's anxiety ratcheted itself up another notch as he waited for the woman to prove to the ponce that she was indeed to be feared. Mercifully, the old witch seemed entertained rather than irritated. "A Witch of the Wilds? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it." Her voice wistful and took on a sing-song quality. "Oh how she dances under the moon!" she intoned before she cackled with unhinged glee.

"They did not come to hear your wild stories mother…" Morrigan interrupted, rubbing her temple in embarrassment, both for herself and for her mother.

At that, Morrigan's mother seemed to sober. "True, they came for their treaties, yes?" She responded as she turned her back and crouched before a small sack at her feet. Alistair supposed he should have been surprised that she had the treaties at her feet and not locked away somewhere in her house, but with the way she seemed to see their destinies, he supposed it was little accomplishment to have known someone was coming for them. "And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these. Take them to your grey wardens and tell them that this blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"What do you mean the threat is greater than they realize?" He asked, hoping to tap some of that strange fortune teller's talent she seemed to possess.

"Either the threat is more, or they realize less," She mocked, clearly more interested in the entertainment the four of them seemed to be providing her. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!" She laughed again.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Riiight…forget I asked.

"How…do you know all this?" That was Lyna, her gaze amazingly steady as she attempted to break down and understand the old witch in her muddled mine.

Apparently the witch was done being helpful. "Do I? Perhaps I am just an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments. Oh do not mind me. You have what you came for!"

Alistair sighed in relief at being released and nodded to the old hag. "Thank you for returning the treaties."

The witch turned to exchange looks with her daughter, vaguely both surprised and amused. "Such manners! Always in the last place you look…like stockings!"

And Morrigan had clearly had enough. "Time for you to go then," she interrupted, casting a wearing glare in her mother's direction. Alistair almost suspected Morrigan of being ashamed of her mother, though from what little he knew of her, he doubted she would complain and certainly not to him. "I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Alistair sighed his silent thankfulness to the maker for having escaped that encounter with all of his extremities attached. Mages didn't make him nervous, but powerful and likely dangerous apostates were another matter. He thought for a moment that maybe he should inform Duncan of the danger when they returned to camp, but knowing him, the man would remind him that chantry concerns were not theirs and dismiss the witches beyond that point.

He then turned and attempted to guide Lyna towards the path, but his mind was half occupied with whether or not to report the women and so he failed to catch her when she fell. He cursed colorfully as he fell to his knees beside her. She rolled to her back and brought a shaky hand to her head as her eyes frantically darted around, watching the world spin. He felt like an oaf as he laid a hand against her clammy cheek and directed her face in his direction. "Are you alright? Can you walk?"

She struggled for a moment, her eyes still darting about, her focus never fully landing on him. "I don't…think so." She confessed.

Alistair nodded and leaned down to wrap her arms around his neck and then scooped her up with ease. He hadn't expected her to be heavy, of course; she was only a little bigger than a child. All the same, he was amazed at how light she was in his arms. The hold was a bit awkward with his armor, but he could carry her no problem. Daveth and Jory said nothing, both having come to the only moderately erroneous conclusion that she had been poisoned by their contact with the darkspawn in the Wilds, and followed Alistair in uncharacteristically grave silence. As the approached the path where Morrigan was waiting, Alistair caught her gaze. Was he imagining it, or had he witnessed a glint of worry there before she realized he was looking and turned towards the path.

Morrigan left them maybe a mile or two outside the gates to Ostagar and no more than thirty minutes later the men entered the ruined fortress, Alistair having shifted to carrying Lyna on his back. Dusk was falling and his anxiety grew worse as he listened to her breath grow more and more shallow. Duncan waited at the fire, just as he had been when they left, but he hurriedly approached the group when he saw that Lyna was practically unconscious behind Alistair.

"So you return from the wilds. Were you successful?" The senior warden asked, though his tone was clipped and hasty. Alistair nodded, casting a meaningful glance back towards the elf. He doubt Duncan needed the reminder, but he was not thinking terribly clearly with a dying woman in his arms. "Good. I've had the circle mages preparing. We can begin the joining immediately."

When they reached a secluded corner of the camp Alistair was loath to put Lyna down, should she fall and perish right there, but she pushed against his grip in a silent request to be released. He supposed she would want to face this moment on her own strength and so he complied, releasing her and leading her to stand next to Daveth.

Duncan now stood before the three recruits, the Joining chalice in hand, reciting words Alistair knew he had repeated one hundred times or more. He appeared cold and distant and Alistair knew he was preparing himself for another death. "At last we come to the joining. The grey wardens were founded during the first blight when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was the first grey wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint. This is the source of our power, and our victory. Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint. We sense it in the dark spawn and use it slay the archdemon. We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first." Duncan stopped then and turned to him. "Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair nodded gravely, but could not bring himself to look the recruits in the eye. Someone would die here, it was simply the odds, but it was no easier to face now, than it had been at his own joining. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan solemnly nodded his thanks and his eyes fell on the elf. Alistair wondered if Duncan felt even the slightest sense of dread as he faced his favorite recruit, knowing that it was her death that was most likely. "Step forward, Lyna." Alistair refused to look up, but heard the distinctly shaky step forward as she moved to accept the chalice. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good." He heard her inhaled breath as she raised the chalice to her lips, heard her swallow as she drank from its depths. "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." Alistair refused to look up, but heard her gasp as the blood took hold of her being, heard her body crumple to the floor, and he clenched his eyes and bit his lip waiting for Duncan to announce that she was gone.

"She will live." Now Alistair did look up and Duncan met his eyes, only the slightest hint of relief peeking through. "She is stronger than I could've imagined."

Daveth and Ser Jory were not so lucky, and Alistair mourned them. His temper flared when Duncan took his knife to Ser Jory. He knew the consequences of Ser Jory's actions, but he couldn't make peace with his fate. The man was a self-righteous fool, but he had a young wife and a child who would never know its father…That part bothered Alistair more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He held his tongue though, and waited for the gruesome ritual to end. Part of him knew that the high price of being a grey warden was not the loss of your life; it was the lengthy pain-filled process by which you lost your humanity. He hoped he never became as cold and distant as he saw Duncan act during the joinings, but deep inside him there was fearful acceptance that it was inevitable.

At length, Duncan scooped up the elf and jerked his head at Alistair in a signal to follow. They marched in strained silence back to the Warden camp and deposited the unconscious woman on a bed roll. "Stay with her Alistair, our sister should see a friendly face when she awakes. I must attend a meeting with the King. When she is awake, please send her to join me." And with that the man was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Lyna floated weightlessly in the black depths of the beyond, her heart half recalling fearful dreams of dragons and monsters that her mind could not fully remember. This river that she sailed along was familiar, like the abyss she had slowly been drowning in for the past week, but now the weight that had been pulling her down into the darkness was gone and she was able to drift along its very edge. It was a intoxicating experience to stare in to the void, aware that it had nearly claimed you, aware that it still could, but also aware that you were now capable of resisting the call if you were to so choose. Before, she had been running as fast as her legs to carry her and inexplicably losing ground. Now, it had stopped chasing and she could take the time to turn and examine her enemy for as long as she liked.

There, deep in the chasm she saw the faces of thousands of men, elves and all the other races of Thedas staring back at her, howling in distant anguish as they reached. They reached out for someone to pull them back to the surface of this damnable poisoned ocean. Mere minutes ago she had been down there with them, twisting in shared anguish, and they had seen her rise, lifted off her path and placed on another, and now they begged to follow, but Lyna knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were beyond her grasp.

But then, somewhere amongst the din, she heard a faint voice, a quiet muted cry for help in a voice long known and well loved. "Lyna! Lyna, I'm here." She shook her head in denial. No, he was not here. "elp me!?" He beseeched. She pressed her hands to her ears and shook her head violently to banish the sound, but it was becoming louder. "Lyna!" Tears stung the back of her eyes. "Lyna!" Her heart pounded and her breath quickened. And then bright white hot light shot through the black and blinded her to everything.

"Tamlen!" She shot upright, gasping for breath as tears threatened to invade her vision. Before her she could see a fire, tents and bed rolls. Weapons and packs leaned up against many of the makeshift shelters and every so often you could see personal belongings sticking out of them; a letter, a memento, a token of someone's affections. Ever so slowly, reality filtered through her sleep induced haze and the sounds of activity all around began reaching her ears. A horrible taste lingered in her mouth and she quickly rolled to the side gagging on its putrescence. Almost instantly a comforting hand came to rest on her back, rubbing slow soothing circles as a voice whispering nonsenses while her stomach attempted to purge itself of the entire nothing she had eaten over the past day.

When at last the heaving subsided, disdain and violence descended on her face and she quickly turned to see which shem it was that had dared to touch her. Alistair's warm caramel eyes met hers, his hand yanked back as if he knew he was about to lose the appendage, and for a moment she felt less disgraced than she had imagined she was. Obviously this was because he had already seen her so much worse, and not because he had enthusiastically jumped up to grab her pack when she had been forced to admit she needed a healing potion and couldn't reach it herself. Obviously it had nothing to do with the concern in his eyes when she had fallen outside the witch's hut, or that he had lifted her in to his arms without so much as a second thought and then carried her all the way back to Ostagar. No, her shame was only less because he had already witnessed more.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral. She could not afford to soften any more towards this man.

Alistair dropped his hand, sighing in…was that resignation? He looked at her for a long second before he replied. "Only a couple hours."

She looked around, expecting to find Daveth and Jory, but when she noticed that they were the only two in the immediate vicinity, she became curious. "What of the others?"

Guilt and grief took him in that moment and Alistair could no longer meet her gaze. His face turned towards the fire, he was silent for a long while, but just as Lyna was beginning to believe he wouldn't answer her, a single word escaped his throat. "Gone."

Lyna's brow furrowed, not sure she understood. Both men, while irritating and self-absorbed, had seemed whole heartedly committed to the Grey Warden's cause. It was more than she could say for herself, conscripted for her own good, dragged away kicking and screaming by a stranger in search of cure that would more likely kill her than save her. If Daveth and Ser Jory were gone, she found it hard to believe they had run away, which could only mean… the crinkle in her brow smoothed away as realized they were dead. The suspicion she had harbored towards these men in days just prior rose up and began choking off what bare hints of trust she had since forged. Her mind was now entirely engaged with finding out just what she had been thrown in to, and what danger she was in. "How?" She demanded.

Alistair's jaw worked as his eyes turned down to the ground before him and his gaze darkened. "Daveth drank, but…he wasn't strong enough." He indecisively chewed his lip a moment before he continued. "Ser Jory…he tried to run. Daveth's death wasn't pretty, and I suppose it scared him. He drew his blade and…well, he's gone too." Lyna's walls slammed back in to place and she found herself yet again watching Alistair for any sign of threat. Whether Jory had been felled by Duncan's blade or Alistair's she did not know. She wanted to ask, desperately wanted more information, but she could no longer trust it from this man. Alistair either missed or deliberately ignored her resurrected distrust. "Only one of us died at my joining, but it was…horrible." His gaze then turned back to her, a small smile playing across his features. "I'm glad at least one of you survived."

The admission caught Lyna off guard and left her feeling a bit awkward as she wrestled between her instincts and something resembling logic. It was entirely possible that Alistair had killed Ser Jory, but here he was expressing grief over a man he barely knew. It was likely that there was a good shemlen reason behind the kill, and more likely that she could still find herself on the wrong end of the same reason, but he smiled at her and was pleased she lived. The wall crumbled a little at the edges and she now felt the inexplicable need to say something. She had not liked either man, and couldn't truly bring herself to grieve for them, even a little. Somehow it seemed too cold and callous to say that, especially so since bodies were still warm. She could also not say that she was happy to be alive, as that seemed only a little less cruel. But then she couldn't say she wished she could take one of their places. First and foremost, she didn't, no matter how intensely she grieved for the loss of her previous life. Secondly, wishing she was dead was a disservice to those who were so. In particular, her thoughts returned to Tamlen, but then she found them straying to Jory and Daveth, deplorable though they had been, and then to all the souls who had already fallen to the blight, as well as all those who still would. She had been given another chance at life, when she should have died with her clansman. It was her duty to him, if no one else, to see that her reprieve from death not be wasted.

It was Alistair who eventually broke the growing silence between them when he said, "Duncan is meeting with the king and his advisors. He asked that you join him when you awoke."

"Why?" She asked in genuine confusion. What would the king want with the junior grey warden and an elf at that?

"I imagine he wishes to welcome you to the order," Alistair replied with a smirk and an eyeroll. "He may not be part of the order, but he sure likes to pretend he is."

If anything, that confused her even more, but then she supposed she might never come to understand humans, no matter how much time she were to spend amongst them. Lyna nodded her agreement and abruptly stood before their encounter became more awkward.

She made her way to a large section of the ruins down the stairs from the old temple they had occupied for the joining ritual and there, beneath the ancient stone, the trees and the stars, Lyna paused as she took in the men who now controlled the country's destiny. The king of Ferelden, bright and shining in his enthusiasm and obnoxious gilded armor, stood in the center of a long table, analyzing a map of the area. Beside him was a much darker man, stoic and clearly irreverent in his treatment of a man who could see him hanged. At the end of the table before them was Duncan, silent and calculating in his observations, as well as a senior mage and a chantry priest. Lyna found herself intimidated by the gathering of people before her and had to quickly shake her trepidation. They were all shemlen. They may have been high ranking, but other than Duncan, not a one of them held sway over her—and even Duncan's control over her was marginal at best. She was not a Ferelden; she was Dalish, she was proud, she was free and she would not be intimidated by these quicklings.

She squared her shoulders, raised her chin and marched right over, not waiting for acknowledgement or permission to join the summit.

The king didn't seem to notice her at all. "Duncan, are your men ready for battle?" he asked, completely caught up in the thrill of living his greatest fantasy.

"They are, your majesty," Duncan nodded. Their earlier encounter with the king had made it very clear to Lyna that he rather idolized Duncan, and she found herself mildly impressed that Duncan remained subservient.

"And this is the Dalish recruit I met earlier?" Lyna straightened as all eyes suddenly landed on her. She defiantly lifted her chin, silently daring him to comment on her unsuitability for the role that had been thrust upon her. "I understand congratulations are in order."

Her bluster died in an instant and she was unsure of how to respond beyond a simple awkward, "Ma serannas." _Thank you_. Maybe he was not the pompous ass she expected, but she would not acknowledge his kingship. He was no ruler of hers. Duncan shot her a disapproving glare, and she shifted in discomfort, but did not back down.

The king, on the other hand, continued to smile and ignored her grievous breech of etiquette. "Every grey warden is needed now, you should be honored to join their ranks," he replied. Lyna nodded her thanks and chose to remain silent this time.

The king 's attention immediately flew to the dark taciturn man he referred to as Loghain and then continued quarreling with him before the two finally reached some sort of begrudging truce and reviewed a battle plan that either the King had half ignored or half-forgotten from before her arrival. The explanation sounded simplistic enough and it seemed a bit odd that it had taken them the two or three hours she had slept to formulate it…but then the king did seem quite argumentative…maybe that's what had taken up so much time…

I her musings she had stopped paying attention to the conversation at hand and was only brought back at the mention of Alistair's name. "Send Alistair and the new grey warden to make sure it is done," the king had said.

Lyna frowned in confusion and turned to angle herself towards Duncan. "If it's not dangerous, I can do it myself." Duncan gave her the same reproachful look from earlier as she spoke out of turn and without any deference to the king's station. She winced slightly, but didn't apologize. While the last time she had intentionally ignored the man's position, she had simply forgotten about it this time, her mouth running unchecked as it tended to do. She could not for the life of her understand why the king knew the name of a single grey warden who was barely her senior and she'd not bothered to think about much else. She supposed his obvious hero worship of the order might have leant him to learn all the warden's names, and Alistair was not without his skills…

"No!" the king nearly cried. Lyna jumped a little at the force in his voice, and the expressions on the faces of the rest of the party confirmed her belief that the flash of temper was unusual. He coughed and schooled his expression before he continued with an explanation. "No, it's best if you both go."

Duncan shot her a look that clearly told her to stay quiet and she complied. They may have all been shemlen, but she knew better than to antagonize one's enemies when outnumbered. She lacked diplomacy and subtlety, not common sense.

The meeting concluded quickly enough after that and they each excused themselves to their own preparations. The battle was a few hours off still, but it would take a while for the troops to prepare themselves, gather on the field and organize. Lyna turned to Duncan, lacking for further instruction. Duncan in turn sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Child, your pride does you ill favor. It will get you in trouble someday."

Lyna pressed her lips together in to a thin line. "He is not my king. Were I still with my people, I would not even be in his country any longer."

"No, you would be dead," Duncan replied abruptly. "Cailan may not be your king, but he is mine and you owe your continued existence to the Grey Wardens, so I would suggest you start thinking of yourself as a Warden and a Ferelden before one of the Dalish," he paused only for a moment. "Now, I have arrangements to make and little time to teach you humility and respect. You have a couple hours, but at their end, find Alistair and join me below the ramparts." With that Duncan turned and walked away.

Lyna clenched her jaw and glared at the retreating figure. He was right. She knew he was right, and what made it worse was that she knew exactly what the clan elders would say if they were here…_we have enemies enough, da'len_…_You belong to more than just yourself, or do you not remember…it is your duty to your clan_…She hollered shrilly from behind her teeth as her frustration got the better of her.

"Elvhen seth'lin la shem'alas!"_ Thin blooded elves and dirty humans,_ she gritted out as she stomped her foot. She knew that cursing Duncan and the elders was a petty reaction, but right then and there she needed her anger. They were all oh so eager to shove their expectations upon her and not one of them bothered to think about how she felt about having everything she knew and cared about stripped away. Did Duncan think this was easy for her? "Ar nuvenin na'din!" _I want to kill them! _She cried, kicking over a sack in her temper tantrum. The laces at the top of the bag snapped as it hit the ground and its contents scattered around the opening. Lyna's shoulders slumped as she let out a heavy sigh and bent to gather up the supplies. She couldn't win; not even against a canvas sack.

The sack refilled, her temper forcibly cooled to simmering, she remembered in some corner of her mind that a fairly major battle was brewing somewhere in the gorge below. She needed her mind to be focused on that, not on thin-blooded elves and dirty shemlen. And empty death threats at vacated spaces certainly weren't going to get her anywhere. Before she left her clan, whenever her mind was disquieted, she would take off to the deep forests for hours at a time to practice her archery. The benefit was two-fold as it served as a balm to her crackling nerves, but also tended to result in dinner when she ran across sufficient game. More than once she had stormed out of camp with her bow and quiver in hand, only to reappear around dusk with a dead wolf slung over her back, her expression returned to one of inner peace. She doubted she would be able to find the same peace here. For one thing, she couldn't just disappear at the moment, but for another, there were too many people around. All the same, she knew there was an archery range towards the front of the camp. It might not quell all her anger, but it would take the edge off if nothing else…maybe she could even persuade one of the dumber shemlen to act as a moving target for her. That thought shot a predatory smirk across her features. She was feeling better already.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ For the sake of the story I am assuming that something very similar to cannabis is an herb that grows in the wilds and that Morrigan and Flemeth know about its pain relieving properties. Also, I apologize if this chapter is a bit tedious. There's a LOT of game dialogue that I just couldn't really see my way around. I felt that the game dialogue outside Flemeth's hut was important to the development of Lyna and Alistair's relationship, and there just wasn't much that I felt I could cut._

_And for the record, I love the comments I'm getting. I know I've already responded to each of you privately, but I felt like it needed to be restated. And please, please, please don't feel bad if you have a critique or some ideas you'd like to communicate. I'm VERY open to them and they help me a lot. Even if I don't end up using them, they frequently make me think about things I haven't considered and have an effect on the story._

_As always, send the musey your comments, she loves them._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Not mine, don't sue._

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Alistair awoke first. There was a near crushing pain in his skull as consciousness returned to him. Rather than move or open his eyes, he groaned. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he had felt quite so completely and totally wretched, and considering some of the drinking nights the wardens engaged in, that was saying something.

Now his eyes snapped open, the last few hours returning to him in brutal, gruesome detail. The blinding light forced him to slam them shut again, but the memory of what had happened down in the gorge while he and Lyna _followed orders_ in the tower raged violently in the forefront of his mind. The wardens were dead. Duncan was dead. Alistair let out another groan, but this one was laced with tears and a desperate plea that it was all somehow a horrible, horrible alcohol induced dream. The moment Alistair tried to move he abandoned any hope that it was at all imagined. He could distinctly feel where his ribs had broken and were now viciously poking his lung. His fingers in his left hand were sluggish to respond and he suspected a fractured bone there as well. He could tell just from the tightness around his opposite eye that he had taken at least one nasty hit to the face, and there was a strange combination of numbness and tingling on that side of his head. Slowly, he checked to see if the rest of his fingers and toes were working. Everything seemed to be in order there…

A thought occurred to him and he felt his cheeks color in shame—though his shame truly paled in comparison to his depression—as he dazedly reached down with his good hand…yup, everything seemed to be in its place.

"Relax boy, no dark spawn has stolen your virility from you," the old witch patronized as she removed the compress on his forehead and replaced it with a fresh cool one. "It's good to see you are awake. We can't have all the Grey Wardens dying at once."

Brilliant. Morrigan's mother…

Alistair finally opened his eyes, but didn't focus them on the witch, his surroundings, or even on his reality. All he could see were the faces of his brothers as they lay dead at the base of a ravine, their bodies broken, bloodied and defiled by beasts so terrible only a vengeful god could conceive of them. All he could see was the face of his mentor, ruined and distorted…

"Your grief is understandable, but it will not bring them back," she rasped. "Best to focus on what you still have and what is yet to be done."

Anger raged through his misery soaked vision, and had he not been nearly incapacitated with pain, he might have lit in to the old hag for her insensitivity. As it was, the process of tensing his muscles for a good tirade was almost too much to bear and he cried out with the agony.

The hag shushed him irately. "Calm yourself, Warden. Morrigan will be back with herbs to soothe your aches in a while. In the meantime, do try not to kill yourself. Keeping you alive was not as easy as it sounds." Whether the pain got the better of him, or the old crone's magic took him, he was soundly back asleep in a matter of seconds.

The second time he awoke, the pain had lessened and he was able to rise from where he had been laying, though with great effort and no small amount of discomfort. The room smelled like smoke and skunk and a low hanging cloud of smoke had settled across the entire chamber. His grief still clung to him, but something had dulled it, similar to the effects of a strong sack of mead. Looking around the room, he saw only Lyna's prone form next to him on the bed…in nothing but her small clothes. He flushed and turned away quickly, though immediately regretted his haste. His vision swam and the miniature dwarf that had taken up residence in his brain began hammering away again. When his vision and headache settled a little, he allowed the return of normal thought. That's when he noticed that he was also in his small clothes. His flush deepening, he reached for what looked like a man's set of common clothes at the end of the bed and dressed himself as quickly as his inebriated state would allow. He found himself fighting extremely hard not to look back at the slight, supple, enticing, nearly naked woman behind him, as if somehow his will had completely left him. What did that witch do to him?!

In the nearest corner of the room he found a basin with fresh water and a couple clean rags folded up next to it. He splashed some of the water in his face and was disappointed when it did nothing to clear the perplexing effects he was experiencing. Maybe some fresh air…

Outside, he breathed in a deep breath of crisp night air. After taking a moment to center and focus his mind, though it seemed to do him little good, he opened his eyes and surveyed the scene before him. In front of him a small campfire crackled and popped, sending the occasional flurry of sparks in to the air. On either side of the fire sat Morrigan and her mother; the former was cooking something that looked like a stew while the other meddled with a small collection of herbs. "Tell me what happened…" he demanded, though he had intended it to be a polite request.

"My, my, aren't we just a ray of sunshine," Morrigan's mother clucked before addressing her castigation of him to Morrigan. "Not even a word in thanks for his life."

"I warned you 'twould be so, mother," Morrigan responded. "He is a Templar after all."

Between the chaos in his head, the ache in his body and the sorrow in his heart, Alistair could not summon the will the deny it and so he sank to the ground beside the fire and accepted a bowl of the witch's greatly feared stew. He realized it could easily be poisoned or enchanted, but he couldn't seem to care. He couldn't even taste it, why should he worry about whether or not it would send him to join his brethren. Part of him deeply hoped that it would, blights be damned. Let someone else handle it.

"I remember…we lit the signal. Loghain pulled his men back and the king's forces were overwhelmed…then the darkspawn charged the tower and we were..." Alistair staggered through what he could recall of the ambush.

"You and your friend were overpowered and fell to your wounds," Morrigan explained bluntly, irritated by Alistair's woe. "Your injuries were not as severe as hers. It is unlikely that she will awaken soon. Even then, there may be some permanent damage."

Alistair just stared in shocked disgust at her cold and clinical comportment as she informed him that Lyna might never fully recover. It nearly undid him just thinking about the fact that he might be the last Grey Warden in Ferelden, that the responsibility of fighting the blight and recouping the order's losses might be his to face. In fact, those thoughts didn't even fully form before a gut wrenching fear exploded in his head and his chest and blocked out his ability to recognize those fears. All he could think was, _No,no, no, no!_

The witch was apparently less of an alarmist. "Be calm now, I have stronger faith in my healing skills than to assume the elf will be forever broken," she said to Alistair, though it was as much directed towards Morrigan. "And she is very strong for one so young. She may sleep for a time still, but she will be right as rain when she comes to."

Alistair felt the fear loosen it's strangle hold around his throat and watched for a spell as the two women sat in silence beside the fire. It seemed as if nothing further would be forth coming, and so he returned his attention to the fire, determined not to fall into a quivering blubbering mess before he knew the state of his companion's health. Try as he might, however, painful and torturous images insisted on parading about in his head. In his mind's eye he watched his life as it had been only a few days ago; the men sitting around the campfire at Ostagar, ribbing him about his innocence, and their loud and overly boisterous nights of drinking in camp as they travelled to Ostagar from the compound in Denerim. He remembered his joining, the solemn look in Duncan's eyes as he handed him the joining chalice and the older man's profound relief when he had awoken later. That was the moment that Alistair realized he belonged, that he was a part of something, and that come hell or high water, this was home and his brothers would stand by him until their last breaths. His eyes burned as he rebuked himself for not doing the same for them.

Alistair was unsure about how long he sat there, just staring in to the fire and floundering in his memories, but a noise from behind him registered somewhere in his wretched state, bringing him back to the real world. He could see the dawn breaking over the trees and the sounds of birds chirping grated powerfully on his ragged nerves.

"See? Here is your fellow grey warden," The old witch informed him. "You worry too much young man."

Alistair turned to look at her and for a moment just stared, unsure whether or not to believe his own eyes. That lasted all of five seconds before he rushed forward and embraced her tightly. "You…You're alive! I thought you were dead for sure," Lyna's muscles tensed, her hands held out to her sides in discomfort. He was in her personal bubble and he knew it, but he just couldn't seem to care. He simply tightened his arms further around her petite frame, just to assure himself she was really there.

"Emma Dareth," _I'm safe,_ she replied. "I…appreciate your concern." She reached up to give him and awkward pat on the shoulder as if trying to convince him to let go. He just held on. Eventually she started to squirm and Alistair forced his arms to release her, but his eyes stayed on her, smoldering in their intense disbelief.

"Duncan's dead…" he started lamely. "The Grey Wardens, even the king, they're all…dead." He hadn't spoken any of this aloud yet, and in doing so the declarations started to settle in as reality. "This doesn't seem real…If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, Lad," Morrigan's mother snapped. Alistair might have given the strange and sudden irritation more consideration if what followed hadn't been a thousand times more disturbing.

Lyna's eyes leveled on the woman and her eyes suddenly lit with a fear so stark and foreign to what Alistair knew of the woman that he was again forced to question his reality. He was shocked further when she ducked in to a low supplicating bow and nearly choked on her words, they exited her mouth so quickly. "Ir abelas, Asha'Bellanar!" _I'm sorry, Asha'Belannar_, she supplicated. "I did not recognize you before, but—but that is no excuse. Ma serannas, I cannot hope to repay you for this kindness."

The crone watched the display, both amused and suspicious. "Tell me child, what do you know of me?"

Lyna remained in the low bow, her eyes not daring to meet the old witch's. "Only what my clanswoman told me and that was not much, just that you are to be feared and respected, that you have been a friend of the Sabrae clan for longer than any of us have been alive."

"I see…" the hag said as her unusually shrewd expression assessed the elf. After a long pause she sighed and rolled her eyes, coming to some conclusion Alistair could never hope to guess at. "Come, come, I am not to be kneeled before," she chastised, waving her hand in a signal for Lyna to come to her feet. She did as she was asked, but she still wouldn't meet the witch's gaze. "Keeper Marethari should not have told you even that much."

"Forgive me, Asha'Bellanar, but she told me nothing," Lyna hurried. "Her first is the clanswoman I speak of, and a close friend…and my clansman probably goaded her in to revealing that much. He had a shameful love for Elvhen lore."

There was another long pause before the witch continued during which she apparently dismissing what seemed to be a terrible breach in privacy. "Names and titles are pretty but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do for now."

Now it was Alistair's turn to gawk. "The Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right. You are a witch of the wilds aren't you?"

Flemeth sighed and rubbed her temple and Alistair suddenly worried that he had gone too far. She was clearly already disgruntled by Lyna's fervent bowing. "And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Alistair scoffed and his next words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them. "A bit of magic? If you are indeed the Flemeth, then you must be very old and very powerful."

"Must I?" She inquired. "Age and power are relative. It depends on who's asking. Compared to you the answer is yes on both counts."

And Alistair's mouth just kept on running. "Then why didn't you save Duncan!? He was our leader!" Where was his verbal filter when he needed it? He was moments away from being eaten alive by this woman and yet somehow he could not put a lid on his pain and anger.

"I am sorry for your Duncan," Flemeth consoled, though she seemed to be thinking back to a time and a place far removed. "Your grief must come later, in the shadows before your take vengeance as my mother once said." With that, she came back to the presence and fixed Alistair and Lyna with a stern stare. "Duty must come now. It has always been the duty of the grey wardens to unite the lands against the blight, or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

It was Lyna who spoke. "It changed when most of them were slaughtered."

Alistair's previous desperation and fear rose up and grabbed hold of his throat again. _No, no, no, no!_ "All the grey wardens in Ferelden are gone, except for us. I've lost everything! For the love of the maker don't back out on me now!" He practically sobbed. He had the overwhelming urge to sit at her feet wrap his arms around her leg like a small child and make her stay.

"If you think small numbers make you helpless then you are already defeated," Flemeth reprimanded the elf, and he sensed that Lyna felt like she was being lectured by her mother, or maybe her keeper, based on the way she fidgeted and how her eyes shifted about.

"Ir abelas," _I'm sorry,_ she replied, her eyes locked on a weed near her feet. "This is a lot to take in, all at once."

Alistair could no longer keep himself from reaching out, grasping her shoulders and pleading with her in his desperation. "I know you never wanted this life. I can't pretend to understand that, but Duncan was like a father to me. I won't let his death be in vain but I can't do anything on my own. Please Lyna, I'm not strong enough. I'm not like you."

There was a long tense silence before she responded. "Couldn't we summon the other grey wardens?"

His fear clenched around his heart, threatening to bring tears to his eyes. "Cailan already summoned them. They'll come if they can, but Loghain has probably already taken steps to stop them. We must assume they won't arrive in time," He tried to reason, though his voice was too tight and high pitched.

Another long pause stretched between them as Lyna gave the situation all of her deep and intense consideration. "Whatever his insanity, Loghain obviously thinks the darkspawn are a minor threat," she finally surmised.

He released Lyna's shoulders as he whirled around to face Flemeth again. "Then we have to warn everyone that this isn't the case," Alistair all but cried, though he breathed an inner sigh of relief at Lyna's capitulation.

"And who will believe you?" Flemeth mocked. "Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake."

Lyna, still deep in thought, shook her head dismissing the sardonic suggestion.

"But he just betrayed his own king!" Alistair's voice was getting dangerously high and he forced himself to calm down a little before he continued closer to his usual tone. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution."

"You think this Arl would believe us over a teyrn?" Lyna asked. "I know little of human politics, nor do I care to expand that knowledge, but Loghain is obviously a powerful man."

"Eamon was Cailan's uncle," Alistair insisted, "I know him, he's a good man and he is well respected in the landsmeet."

Lyna shot him a dubious look. "Keep in mind that Loghain was supposedly also an honorable man."

"The Arl would never do what Loghain did!" For a moment, Alistair could barely believe that she doubted the honor of a man as noble as Arl Eamon…of course his common sense then slapped him upside the head as she rubbed her tattooed forehead; she'd likely never heard of the man before.

"Surely there are other allies we could call upon," she sighed, reaching for any way to avoid running to a shemlen lord.

Alistair looked at her long and hard, trying to empathize with her hesitation, attempting to understand her. He didn't want to be helpful right now; he wanted to go running like a scared little child to Arl Eamon for help. At the same time, he felt like a stubborn ass _and_ a child for wanting to get his way. He wasn't sure which was worse. "We do have the treaties," he finally provided. "Grey Wardens can demand help from dwarves, elves, mages and other places. They're obligated to help us during a Blight."

"I may be old," Flemeth smirked. "But dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me."

For the first time since he awoke the day before, Alistair felt that despite all the chaos, devastation and loss, there was potential for hope. It wasn't much, but it was something. "So can we do this? Can we go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build and army?"

Lyna shook her head in tired resignation. "I doubt it will be as easy as that…"

The tension of their earlier conversation finally broke. "And when is it ever?" Flemeth asked. "So you are set then, ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"Ready or not, I suppose we have little choice," Lyna sighed and proceeded to give her thanks. "Ma serannas for everything, Flemeth."

It was at the moment that Morrigan emerged from the hut behind them, approaching in her usual somber state. "No, no, Thank you," Flemeth was saying. "You are the grey wardens here, not I…but there is one more thing I can offer you." She turned slightly to include her daughter in the conversation. "The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly girl…and you will be joining them."

"What?" Morrigan practically yelped

"You heard me girl, last time I looked you had ears," Flemeth snapped before she chuckled madly at her own joke.

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan demanded.

"You have been itching to get out of the wilds for years, this is your chance," Flemeth sneered. "As for you, Wardens," Flemeth said, redirecting her gaze to Lyna and Alistair. "Consider this repayment for your lives. Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the wilds and how to get past the hoard."

"We will take her with us," Lyna agreed. Alistair suspected she was doing her damnedest not to drop into another bow.

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this. I'm not even ready!" Morrigan was past being reasonable now and practically begged to stay.

Flemeth was as serious and unmoving as a rock now. "You must be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you Morrigan. Without your help they will surely fail, and all will perish under the blight, even I…" The last part was said a little quieter with a hint of anguish. It was probably the greatest amount of emotion the old hag ever showed.

"I…understand," was all Morrigan could muster in response.

"And you, Wardens, do you understand?" Flemeth's voice had regained it's edge. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

"I understand," Lyna nodded her agreement again.

Morrigan looked a little wilted and refused to meet their eyes when she spoke again. "Allow me to get my things if you please."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Sorry guys, short chapter. I wanted to explore Morrigan a bit further and, well…it got a bit longer than I had anticipated. My choices were to either split it in to two short chapters or have one REALLY long chapter, and I didn't really want to change POV in the middle. I'll try and have the next chapter posted tonight, since I'm feeling like Alistair's depression needs some serious kyboshing. I love that word…kybosh._

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Morrigan was irritated. Of course, lately it seemed that everything irritated her. She did not think herself to be quite this ill-tempered usually, but she found herself snapping at everything the Templar said and even occasionally at the elf, who seemed for all intents and purposes to be a reasonable person. The elf was as much a foreigner to the rest of the world as she was, and that made her in to quite the kindred spirit. They had much in common beyond that, and that in and of itself gave Morrigan pause when she felt a particularly vile slight settle at the back of her throat or venom and anger settle in to her chest…and that seemed to happened frequently.

Of course the frequency was entirely due to the third member in their party. In truth the Templar said little with regards to anything, so stooped in his grief was he, but his very presence rankled. Morrigan found herself laying on a bed of needles, just waiting for him to shout out, "Apostate this and abomination that, Andraste and the Maker!" as ridiculous as it all tended to sound. More often than not, actually, he seemed only to speak when spoken to, and only a few words even then, but just as she was suspecting that he had been tossed from the chantry for being insufficiently pious, they would find themselves in battle and he would smite a mage. So what if it was a darkspawn emissary, it was still a mage!

When he did speak of his own volition he seemed to only manage the most inane of questions and comments. Just because she had lived in the wilds her entire life did not mean she had never encountered other people! She had encountered him and the elf along with their two insufferably dim companions hadn't she? And who was he to ask her about her mother? She'd had every right to comment on his intelligence, or lack thereof; it was obviously deficient. And that's when he'd finally said it, apostates, illegal witches, etc. Morrigan had raged and seethed on the inside, mentally daring him to do anything about it. She could turn him in to a toad given a few moments of casting…but then logic reminded her that it would be a waste of her energy and so she instead continued to insult his intellect.

Eventually the elf had jumped in and silenced them both. In the following silence, Morrigan wondered to herself why the comment about her mother had bothered her so. Men were not wrong when they called her crazy. Morrigan herself rarely understood Flemeth's motivations, let alone her ramblings. In fact she insulted her own mother on a frequent basis—never to her face mind you. Still, she could not fathom the reason that Alistair's name calling bothered her so. Unless she missed Flemeth…but that was not possible, she had only been gone a few days! And even if it had been longer, her mother rarely if ever showed any level of affection for her and endeavored to teach Morrigan to do the same from her earliest days. Morrigan had long ago learned that affection for others was a weakness and must be avoided at all costs. Flemeth knew the cost of affection well and would not burden herself with it again. Morrigan was Flemeth's to do with as she pleased and for Morrigan, Flemeth served only the purpose of a mentor…or so she told herself. Flemeth had managed to point out that Morrigan still cared to some degree about her mother when she reminded her that the darkspawn would threaten even her. The evident truth of her continued weakness forced Morrigan to quickly clamp down on those urges. Once she had learned all she could from Flemeth, she would leave, whether the old woman wished it or not.

And so she decided that her dislike for Alistair was indeed completely about his stupidity.

But he was not the only reason she was irritated. Lyna, in a thus far uncharacteristic show of participatory leanings, had decided that they would set up camp within Lothering instead of as far away from humans as possible. She suspected that it was in part because the darkspawn were uncomfortably near; as the elf had said, "practically crawling up our skirts." Morrigan's other suspicion was that Lyna thought some basic human interaction might serve to rid Alistair of his sullen attitude, at least in part. Unfortunately, she had been right and the idiot had been chattier over the last few hours than he had the last few days.

Morrigan, on the other hand, was extremely wary of all the people currently surrounding them. She was simply waiting for someone to start yelling out "Witch of the Wilds! Kill the apostate!" Her eyes darted back and forth across the refugee camp, looking for any sign of danger, or even modest recognition. At the city gate and outside the chantry Templars stood watch, their eyes obscured behind their steel helms. Even the most superstitious Chasind fishwife was likely to cause a stir with them. That more than anything made Morrigan nervous, and those nerves were the majority of the reason behind her foul temper. She was sitting in a tight enclosed camp with a despairing Templar, a jumpy elf and some two hundred refugees while Templars watched her every twitch; her only salvation was in the deep and calming breaths she was finding less and less effective.

As if on cue, a young chantry priest approached their encampment, her chin length red hair falling in her eyes as she knelt down a couple feet from Morrigan with a basket full of bread.

"Blessed are the—"

"I shall hear none of your preaching Sister!" Morrigan snapped.

The priest stared at her in surprise and for a moment said nothing; only for a moment though. "Oh, I am no sister; I am just an initiate," She responded in her melodic Orlesian accent. "And I did not mean to preach, I only wished to give you something to eat if you are hungry."'

Morrigan eyed the bread suspiciously. "I would sooner accept poison from a snake."

The young initiate suddenly looked quite indignant, "then I will pray to the Maker that you do not go to sleep hungry tonight." With that, she abruptly stood and walked the short distance to Lyna and Alistair, both of whom quietly accepted the gift. Once the initiate had moved on, Lyna's eyes darted over to Morrigan, mild exasperation on her features.

"You didn't have to be quite that forceful you know," she said as she approached and then sat down and handed Morrigan half of the chunk of bread she had just received. It was likely the same chunk the initiate had just offered Morrigan. She took it without complaint.

"And have the woman continue proselytization to me about her Maker? I think not." Morrigan hissed before taking a bite out of the bread and scowling further. It tasted very good.

"Morrigan, I am Dalish. My appearance alone is drawing more attention to us than I would like," Lyna tried to reason. "The last thing I want is to give those Templars a reason to look at us any closer."

Morrigan didn't say another word on the matter, knowing her companion was right. "Have you decided where we are to go after we leave Lothering?" she asked.

"I…have an idea," Lyna replied.

"Why do you hesitate?" Morrigan asked, curious about Lyna's uncertainty.

"I am afraid it will seem selfish. And to some extent it is…Alistair wants us to approach this Arl Eamon straight away, but I am leery of approaching a human. I would feel far more comfortable approaching the Dalish; my people would not refuse us aid." Lyna paused, as if debating her next words. "And in truth, I am homesick," she finished lamely.

"It is not selfish to ask one's people to help in facing the Blight, it is logical; 'tis the height of practicality actually, and if you gain something for yourself in the process it is no fault of yours," Morrigan replied.

"Yes, but Alistair is grieving. He seems to know this Eamon person and a friendly face might do him well," Lyna agonized.

"And it might not! Have we not already put our own safety in enough jeopardy in an attempt to soothe his pain?" Lyna's answering silence was all the confirmation she needed. "It is not your responsibility to cure him of his anguish."

"Maybe not, but I understand it," Lyna responded glumly.

"And you have handled your grief far better than he." Lyna didn't respond and Morrigan knew she was right. More importantly, she knew Lyna agreed with her. An amiable silence settled over them as they chewed on the bread, though Lyna continued to watch Alistair with more concern than Morrigan felt he was worth. At length, Morrigan felt herself grow too restless and nervous to stand it any longer and decided to take her leave. The only thing that would calm her nerves now, and prevent her from exposing their party to the mercy of the Templars, would be flight. Rising to her feet, she made her excuses to Lyna before departing. She paused briefly as she passed Alistair, her irritation approaching a dangerous high point.

Alistair looked up, his all too familiar melancholy written all over his face, "What do you want, Morrigan?"

Her temper spiked. "While you insist on wallowing in your misery, you might stop to consider that our other companion has lost just as much as you have, and yet _she_ does not insist on subjecting the rest of us to her moods," she snapped as she stomped off towards the forest beyond the King's Highway.

A short time later Morrigan had managed to walk a small distance in to the woods. She had not travelled so deep yet that the canopy completely obscured the moonlight, but it was becoming harder and harder to see with her human eyes. She sighed, wishing to put more distance between herself and the refugee camp. If she went much further without shifting in to a different form, however, she ran the risk of twisting an ankle or breaking an arm or worse. This would have to do. She approached the nearest bush and deposited her staff beneath its leaves before bending to remove her right boot and then the left, and then removing the worn stockings Flemeth so often refused to mend or replace. She stuffed them in to one of the boots and straightened before taking a moment to let her human feet revel in the feel of dried leaves, twigs, dirt and moss beneath and between her toes.

Next, she reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting the threadbare fabric up and over her shoulders and her head in one swift movement. She then reached for the belt of her skirt, quickly unfastening it and dropping the heavy garment to the forest floor. She gathered both vestments and her boots and placed them all next to her staff and then straightened. For the briefest of moments she soaked up the delightful feeling of a warm fall breeze against her skin, its warmth teasing her breasts like a lover. It was like a soft caress trailing over her body, causing the fine hair on her arms and neck to stand on end, before one lost oneself in the throes of lovemaking. Truly, no other comparison could capture the sheer rapture of returning to nature after a long absence.

With that, she began a low chant, gathering her own inner power as well as calling on the magics possessed by the plants and creatures around her. It flowed through her mind and her heart, throughout her legs, stomach, arms and hands. The energy bottlenecked at her fingers, building and building in pressure, making her fingertips ache with a need to touch something…anything. She felt as if her blood were pooling in her hands, making them heavy and the slightest bit sore. Finally when the pressure seemed so great she could burst she thrust he hands out in front of her, her fingers splayed wide, and released the magic she had been summoning. The bright white light exploded from her palms and surrounded her being, swirling faster and faster and faster, constricting tight and tighter upon itself until it practically hugged her body. Every inch of her skin tingled, every limb quivered; it was like her entire body had fallen asleep, and now her entire being quaked with pins and needles and a strange sense of numbness…

Just when she felt as if she could bear the tingling no longer, the light around her exploded into the forest's darkness and where her human body had stood before, now there was a sleek black crow wailing its raucous screech into the night. Morrigan screeched one last call into the dark and then sighed in a sort of satisfied relief at the sudden absence of the magic's pressure, shaking her entire body to try and rid herself of the remaining vestiges. Feeling more settled in her new form, she spread her wings and shook them out a couple more times to ensure she was completely comfortable. Slowly she bent her knees and began rapidly beating her wings. With a mighty heft, she pushed off the forest floor and flapped hard against the gravity that would pull her down. Within moments she was above the canopy and soaring through the cooling night air. When gravity overtook her, she beat her wings a few times, climbed a few feet and then let herself coast along the current some more. This was what the gods intended when they gave men magic. This was what living was all about. This was freedom, and damn anyone who tried to take it from her.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**__ Sorry! This chapter is coming couple days later than I had hoped, but you know how life is, always getting in the way. Just a short note this time; it's about time for Alistair to come out of his funk, don't you think? I adore Alistair most days, but his moping gets down right irritating after a while. And this story's been more than angsty enough for my tastes. Please, please, please review and let me know if you have questions, ideas…general praise (especially the general praise, lol). They're like crack and the more I get the more I write. ;-)_

_The song is called Suledin and translates into the following,_

_Time was once a blessing  
but long journeys are made longer  
when alone within.  
Take spirit from the long ago  
but do not dwell in lands no longer yours._

_Be certain in need,_  
_and the path will emerge_  
_to a home tomorrow_  
_and time will again_  
_be the joy it once was_

* * *

Lyna watched as Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she breathed out a deep and pain filled sigh as Morrigan spit her increasingly common venom at Alistair. She was beginning to suspect that her foreseeable future was going to consist of playing referee between the two of them and she was not looking forward to it. Part of her was in complete agreement with Morrigan's cold and logical analysis of his behavior; Alistair was sulking, he wasn't even attempting to spare them his woe and it was annoying. But on the other hand, the part of her that had had everything she loved ripped away from her less than two weeks ago wished she could do something to ease the pain. She knew she had been on the waspish side while at Ostagar, and Alistair had done everything in his power to make her smile…but the other men in their party would have been hard pressed to do her harm. If Morrigan wished to, and Lyna suspected she did, she could for far worse to Alistair than harm him physically. She needed to say something, if for no other reason than to maintain their little party's cohesion. She was suddenly aware that her indecision was beginning to show physically when her fingers, which had been idly twirling and toying with the last bite of bread, fumbled and her food dropped to the ground between her legs. She sighed with irritation, picked the morsel up, dusted it off and blew on it before popping the whole thing in her mouth and damn anyone who said anything about it.

She took a deep breath to prepare herself and boosted herself off the ground before walking over to where Alistair sat in the shadows of his tent and a couple broken crates. The mabari that had followed them in to camp seemed to have taken something of a liking to him and rested its gargantuan head on his thigh, but from what she could tell Alistair had completely ignored the beast. She had to stop herself from voicing her first thought. _Could you be more dire?_

"May I join you?" She asked quietly. Alistair nodded, never making eye contact, as he fiddled with his joining pendant. "How are you doing?" She continued.

He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out just exactly how he was doing. "How do you do it?" he asked.

Lyna wasn't certain exactly to what he was referring to and so she took a shot in the fuzzy grey. "How do I continue after losing my clan?" Alistair nodded. "Honestly, I'm not sure I have," she replied. That was obviously not helpful, and it seemed only to make Alistair retreat further into his stupor. "What I mean to say is that we can't continue as we were. We must become something new instead. I try to remember all the things I gained from knowing the ones I lost. I try to make their love and strength and support my own and look to a brighter future, and in that way they are always with me."

Alistair scoffed loudly at her banality.

"Do not mock!" Lyna suddenly cried. She knew it was an empty platitude, but it was a platitude that was allowing her to face the day and it seemed vitally important at that moment. "My clan may not be dead, but even you must see through all your moping that I may never see them again. As such, they are as good as dead to me!" He didn't say anything, "And I loved Tamlen, and there is nothing that will bring him back. I should have died with him, and for some reason that only the creators know, I did not. Instead I was ripped away from my clan to fight a war that I would otherwise have no part in. The best I can hope for is to do his memory justice." Now Alistair looked ashamed.

She sighed again, pausing to collect her thoughts before she continued. "I continue because Tamlen's life deserves more than to be grieved over. I continue because my clan sent me away so that I might live, not so that I might be a bitter and hollow shell of who I was. I owe it to them, if to no one else, to at least try…," She lowered her head to try and get a better look at Alistair's face. "Wouldn't Duncan and the other wardens want the same for you?"

Alistair didn't respond as he continued to thumb his joining pendant, lost deep in his thoughts. She had one last pearl of wisdom she could impart, though she suspected it would not have the same amount of meaning for him as it did for her. "My people have a song… The song is about enduring and emerging from sorrow. It is tied to the loss of our ancient home although it speaks strongly to me when I am sad as well." She began to sing then, low and quietly, only intending the words for Alistair and herself. She was no bard, but she could carry a tune well enough.

"_Melava inan enansal  
ir su araval tu elvaral  
u na emma abelas  
in elgar sa vir mana  
in tu setheneran din emma na_

lath sulevin  
lath araval ena  
arla ven tu vir mahvir  
melana 'nehn  
enasal ir sa lethalin."

He listened to her song and, after it was over, her short translation, and at length, he tilted his head to the side, considering everything she had said. Eventually he lifted the pendant to eye level, gave it a long sanctioning stare and hung it back around his neck. "You're right," he finally replied before turning to look at her.

_Took you that long, did it?_ She thought as she smiled and met his gaze. On the whole, she supposed he was right on schedule. He hadn't had to deal with her on the road like Duncan had and she was beginning to suspect she had been a great deal more ornery than usual. "Of course I am," she informed him, winking as she continued. "Dalish women are rarely wrong, and it doesn't tend to end well for the men when we are."

Alistair quickly forced a somewhat brittle and nervous laugh. "I'll try to keep that in mind…" it wasn't the response she was hoping for and perhaps her disappointment showed on her face. "It's a funny joke, don't get me wrong, unless…it is a joke right? No offense, but you can be very scary." That didn't help.

She quickly abandoned her attempt at levity, perplexedly looking him over from head to toe, as she considered what to say in response. It seemed he trusted her just about as much as she trusted him. In the days since Ostagar, Lyna had come to the decision that whatever threat the wardens posed to her before was moot. Alistair was the only one remaining and whether he bore her ill will or not, he was of little danger to her. He was certainly a skilled fighter when he wanted to be, but he seemed to otherwise lack the will for the time being. She had silently wondered when looking at him from time to time if her initial impression of him had been right—that given a choice, he would never hurt a fly—but she had not stayed alive, nor kept her clan alive, by gambling on the good will of a shemlen. Alistair fought the darkspawn and bandits right alongside her but he was sloppy, distracted and trapped in his own thoughts.

That was an entirely different problem all together. In her vengeance Lyna was overkill, but Alistair was under-kill and more than once she'd had to finish off a genlock or two that he had not entirely seen to. One had even managed to deal him a ghastly slice to the shin only a few days ago. Morrigan's magic was enough to heal his leg for now, but he had limped for a while after that and it was clear to Lyna that Morrigan would not be able to handle their much more serious injuries. Regardless of his loyalties, Lyna did not trust to have him at her back simply because of his inattention.

"We do not trust each other," she stated unequivocally. He made to protest but she raised a hand to stop him. "You are a shem and, for the moment, a rather careless fighter." He attempted to argue again, but a stern look silenced him. "And I am a Dalish rogue with a short temper and blood vengeance on my mind. These concerns must be settled." He didn't argue now. "Alistair, until you pose a direct threat to my person, you have nothing to fear from me. My revenge is for the darkspawn and the archdemon alone." He nodded his understanding but was silent a long while, his brow furrowed as if trying to sort through a conundrum.

"Well then I supposed I shall be glad to not be one of them…why does my humanity make it so difficult for you to trust me as an individual, Lyna?" He finally asked. "I have never done anything to harm you; in fact, I looked out for you in the wilds. Maker, I _carried_ you back to Ostagar!" The pitch of his voice was rising. Clearly he had been harboring these thoughts for a while.

Lyna's eyes retreated to the ground before her in something that felt disturbingly close to shame. "We Dalish are taught our entire lives that the shemlen are not to be trusted. It is a…difficult lesson to unlearn," She reasoned. She probably should have told him the part where she half suspected him of killing Ser Jory, but if he hadn't that would only lead to discussion of Duncan and she didn't think he would take well to that particular subject. It would have to wait.

"We're not all bad you know," he replied softly.

She knew he was right. "As to the other reason for my distrust-"

"I have not been at my best in battle since…" he interrupted before he trailed off, not wanting to put voice to his loss. He cleared his throat, refocusing his mind and continued. "I have been careless and it had cost me. I have a shiny new scar to prove it and everything," He smirked cruelly to himself. "I hope you know that I am not usually like that."

"I believe that is true," Lyna nodded. "But you have to remember I was quite ill when you were fighting at your best. I need you to be present in battle, not embattled with your grief. More so, I need you at my back; I cannot watch yours and my own at the same time." It was more than reasonable and they both knew it, gaining some degree of mutual understanding. "Will you come join the rest of the world then, Alistair?"

He nodded. "I cannot guarantee that my sadness will be completely gone, but I do my best not to wallow in it at all hours."

"And I would not want you to abandon your mourning before you are ready. I would not have you resent me for it." A weak smile of thanks was her reward and she returned a much brighter one in exchange. "Come, you have spent enough time in these shadows and the fire needs tending."

They spent the rest of the night in amiable silence, and when Morrigan returned her irritated glare in Alistair's direction was much softer than it had been when she had left. Whatever she had been up to, it had clearly done a great deal to calm her temper and for that Lyna was endlessly thankful.

The morning did not go as smoothly.

The first thing they had done when they entered the village proper had been to visit a vendor outside the chantry. There had been some initial conflict over what he was charging poor refugees for his goods. Lyna couldn't be bothered; shems should deal with shem concerns, she said. Eventually Alistair spoke up and convinced him to lower his prices to what he would have charged before the blight…but he would be charging them full price. Lyna scoffed loudly and then muttered about dirty shems loudly in Dalish before she left the bartering to Alistair. As she had said before, she lacked diplomacy and subtlety, not common sense; he was better suited to dealing with pigheaded humans.

After he finished with the surly merchant, selling nearly all the junk they had looted off darkspawn and bandits thus far, their small party accepted a couple quick but well-paying jobs from the chanter's board and put some real coin in their pockets before heading to the tavern to see about supplies. The idea of needing coin to buy things from strangers irritated Lyna to no end; among the Dalish everything was shared openly with the rest of the clan. In truth, you couldn't even really keep your meals or your bedroll to yourself as some small child would eventually sink their sweat dirty and grass stain covered body down next to you and take what they could. And so it was with much disgust that Lyna watched how jealously the people in this village guarded the things they owned.

It was inside that they encountered a small group of Loghain's men, left behind to search for any warden stragglers. The fight was brief, aided in part by the initiate from the night before, but more so by Alistair's sudden reversal in fighting ability. Where his attention had been lacking and scattered before, he was at Lyna's back and entirely focused on their fight. When it was over she smiled and nodded her thanks to him and his face brightened much like it had in the wilds when she'd broken down and asked for his help.

From there the initiate, Leliana she called herself, joined their party, insisting the Maker made her do it. The sentiment gained her no friends within their party, Alistair being the only Andrastian in the group and his faith was shaky on a good day. Still, Lyna could see she was a good fighter and they were in desperate need of allies. She would take what she could get.

That decision turned out to have been a very good one as it was only through Leliana's intervention that they later managed to convince the revered mother to release the Qunari caged at the edge of the village in to their custody. Lyna was somewhat surprised to hear Morrigan speak in favor of taking the Qunari along since she had been so opposed to the dog's presence and later to letting Leliana follow them. Lyna herself was only a begrudging fan of the dog herself. She was a ranger aside from being an elf and preferred the company of wild animals, much like Morrigan. But the dog quickly proved to be just as useful in a fight as the rest of their merry band, and so he earned his keep well enough.

Soon enough, however, Lothering would fall to the blight. Lyna and Alistair could sense the encroaching hoard by midday and knew it was probably a matter of hours before the darkspawn began flooding in to the village. They told the knight captain to evacuate the moment they sensed the impending darkness, but morosely refused to stay and fight when he asked for their aid. It was a lost cause, they told him, and he and his men would put their lives to better use defending the refugee's withdrawal than trying to fend off the evil that was fast approaching.

Eventually he agreed to their advice, but not before ordering his men to set as many traps for the darkspawn as possible. If they were not to face the darkspawn directly, he would do everything he could to put a dent in their forces from a distance.

That night, from the king's highway, the refugees of Lothering watched with fear and anguish as explosions, flames and smoke consumed their homes and danced high in the air to lick at the sky. The blighted bodies of men, dwarves, elves and Qunari poured over the small village. Fields were ablaze and traps held a few darkspawn rooted to the ground in places. Poison gas sold to the merchant in the tavern slowly consumed one of the farther field.

In particular, Lyna watched Leliana. The poor woman cried unabashedly as she watched the chantry, her home, collapse beneath the weight of the burning roof. She said nothing, perhaps knowing that the losses could have been far greater. Homes could be rebuilt, fields could be sewn again, livestock could be replaced. There would of course be some loss of life. A few of the older villagers had declined to leave, claiming they were too old and too frail to make the long journey to Denerim. Some stayed to defend the parents and grandparents who stayed to face their deaths. Lyna knew there would be no convincing those men and women to run. It was a horrible waste of life, but she knew that she would have done the same for her clan in that position.

That night in camp, there was silence. It was late, but they had finally outrun the hoard enough to feel comfortable about stopping. They had broken off from the refugees some hours back, claiming they had obligations elsewhere in the south lands. The only sounds were from tents being erected and backpacks being unpacked. In an uncharacteristic show of kindness, Morrigan had come back from wherever it was she ran off to at night with a wolf's body trailing on the ground behind her. They might have eating well that night, but it seemed that at least half of them lacked the stomach for food.

It was not until everyone else had gone to bed and Alistair and Lyna stood watch at the camp's perimeter that finally someone spoke.

"We really should give him a name," Alistair mused, looking back and smiling at the dog as he rolled on to his back and kicked one of his hind paws in the air, clearly in the middle of a vivid dream.

"What's wrong with just calling him dog or mutt?" Lyna asked.

"Mabari are extremely intelligent," Alistair said defending the animal. "Calling him that might land us all in trouble. Wouldn't you been insulted if I simply called you elf or knife ear?"

Lyna shot him a dangerous look and she felt a bit of satisfaction when he gulped nervously. "If you did, you might find yourself divested of your tongue in the morning."

Alistair's hand came to his throat, attempting to rub away some sudden discomfort. "Yes, so you see, he should probably have a name."

Lyna considered it for a moment, but was truly lost. "We do not keep domesticated animals in the Dalish tribes, even the halla are not truly tamed. It is an affront to their nature. The closest I have ever come to having an animal companion was when I summoned a wolf for a hunt once. She was not so much as a year old and from what I could tell she had lost her pack. She followed me around for several months after that, but she must have found them again because one day she simply ran off…what name does one give a dog?"

"Well, I suppose that depends on the animal," Alistair replied. "Most people give Mabari fierce warrior names like Dane or Krull." He replied.

"Krull?" Lyna questioned, amused by the strange name.

"Yes, Krull. As in Krull the Warrior King," Alistair responded, his voice becoming deep and gruff as he restated the name. Lyna could not help herself and let out a bark of laughter. "Or you know, whatever sounds right."

"It seems to me that you should name him then, you are much better suited to the task," she responded, mirth twinkling in her eyes.

"Ah, but I'm not the one he has chosen for his master," Alistair shrugged. "He will only answer to the name you give him, like it or not."

"What if you chose the name and we let him think I picked it?" Lyna hedged. She was losing the argument and she knew it, but her pride rarely allowed her to give in easily.

"Mabari," Alistair said slowly, annunciating every syllable slowly and clearly. "Smart dogs. He'll figure it out."

"Very well," Lyna sighed. She shifted her eyes back to the forest just beyond their camp, though her thoughts were far away from their watch. "His name will be Fen'Harel, the dread wolf."

Alistair smiled. "It fits. He's just about as frightening as you are in battle…" He hesitated for a moment.

"Out with it," Lyna commanded.

"It's kind of a mouthful," He wavered. "Do you mind if I just call him Fen?"

"Very well," she said.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:**__ Another shorter chapter, I apologize. Some of you have been hinting at an interest in Dalish culture, so I wanted to give a little insight, or at least give you my ideas of what Dalish culture is, so there's not much action in this chapter, which of course made it difficult to write. The prayer Lyna says before her hunt is from the codex entry on Andruil, though I changed a few of the words to make it a prayer to the goddess instead of lessons from the goddess. The ritual motions are inspired by new age pagan ritual, since I figure that's probably what Elvhen religion is most akin to; you know, nature based and all that sort of stuff._

_Questions, comments, complaints and suggestions are welcome, as always._

* * *

Lyna woke up that morning with an inexplicable sense of claustrophobia…perhaps it hadn't started that morning, since she could honestly say she had felt this way since their party had arrived in Lothering, but to have gone from the rare peace of a dreamless sleep to the real world where she faced interpersonal issues between her cohorts, personal problems of her own and then the blight…well it made it easier to really assess what each and every problem was, even if it didn't make the actual situation easier. It still seemed somewhat inexplicable however, since they were no longer surrounded by hundreds of human refugees or permanent stone structures. Lyna was back in her element, but even with the woods all around her, the light morning dew settled on her brow and her blankets—she still refused to sleep in the tents with the others—she could not for the life of her shake the antsy feeling that crawled all over her skin. She might have blamed it on the lingering cold, the sun not having risen to warm the world yet, but her pre-dawn awakenings had never bothered her that way before, not even in the height of winter…granted, the Dalish travelled with the seasons; hunting was better when the world wasn't mired in snow.

She also couldn't blame it on their growing company. Alistair and the chantry shem were both still asleep while Morrigan and the Qunari were keeping watch on opposite ends of the camp. Now there was an interesting character, the Qunari, quiet and stoic but as direct as an arrow to the gut…but that was neither here nor there and there would be plenty of time to get to know the unsettlingly still man better. The dog—she doubted she would ever call it or think of it by the name Alistair insisted she give it—was curled in to a tight ball next to the few embers that remained from the night's fire. The dog was not an irritation so much as an oddity…domesticated animals…She shook her head, sure she would never understand.

She finally sat up, throwing off the blankets and swinging her legs around to bury her bare feet in the cold wet grass beside her bedroll. The corner of her lips quirked upwards and she wiggled her toes with the slightest amount of childish joy. She frowned again a moment later when the uneasiness didn't subside.

Huffing out a tremendous sigh, she reached just above where her head had been laying and snatched up her bow, quiver and hunting knife. It would be a couple of hours before anyone else stirred and then they would be hungry, she thought, choosing specifically to ignore the wolf carcass Morrigan had brought back last night. Besides, wolf wasn't good for breakfast.

At the edge of camp, Lyna paused beside Morrigan, the woman's eyes shrewdly watching the woods that fanned out before her.

"Is there a problem?" Lyna enquired.

"Tis too quiet for my liking…" Morrigan trailed off. "I have been of the opinion lately that something follows us."

Lyna couldn't help the sardonic smirk. "You mean other than the blight and an army of darkspawn?"

"Possibly," Morrigan didn't return the humor. "You are aware, I hope, that there is no need to hunt this morning?"

Lyna sighed, knowing that Morrigan was going to be all business for the rest of her watch and as such abandoned the attempt to amuse her. "I am," she replied. "But my mind is unsettled." Morrigan was already familiar with Lyna's penchant to disappear when she needed to calm down or to think.

"And that has nothing to do with the fact that you have not yet informed our woeful little Templar of your plans to bypass desires for your own?" She'd hit the nail on the head as Lyna realize the source of her anxiety. "'Twould be best to do so sooner rather than later, as we have already begun to steer in the opposite direction of Redcliffe," Morrigan informed her. "Eventually he will realize we travel east instead of west. Even I must admit he is not that dumb."

"Yes, I know," Lyna sighed as she reached up to rub her shoulder.

"And yet you avoid the topic," Morrigan chastised. "Tis the third time in as many days you have gone hunting. You and Alistair eat as much as a large bear, and yet we are still giving away food to the refugees we pass."

Lyna grumbled. Morrigan was right…Morrigan was always right and it was beginning to rankle. Lyna prided herself on her logical mind, but on the occasion she felt the need to be rash and illogical, Morrigan would be right there, ready to chastise her childish behavior. And what was so wrong with giving food away to refugees who could not hunt for themselves? Of course she despised the shemlen and the flat ears, and less than a month ago, had they stumbled across the Dalish camp she would have happily loosed an arrow in to each and every one of their necks…but things had changed. Now she travelled with shemlen and domesticated animals; now she fought for a nation full of humans and buildings and nonsensical religious piety. The thought made her grimace, further entrenching her need to hunt.

With that thought, she huffed out an irritated sigh and stomped off in to the woods. Morrigan said nothing, and for that Lyna was thankful. No, they didn't need the food, but it would get eaten at some point by someone, somewhere. She needed her fifteen minutes of peace like a drunk needed his next pint. It was her fix, and the craving was getting worse. As the forest closed in around her, her footsteps silenced themselves subconsciously and her upright posture lowered itself in to a sly crouch. Quiet drifted over her mind and all that existed was the world around her. Morrigan was right again, it was a little too quiet but it wasn't enough so to give her pause, not yet, so she decided to focus entirely on the hunt.

The duty of hunting had mostly to Lyna. Morrigan was an incredibly capable huntress, herself; her fault was in her unwillingness to share. She was more than happy to take from the game that Lyna brought back, but she tended to snarl ferociously whenever Alistair, Leliana or the dog got too close to her secluded section of camp. If the hunting were left to her, only half their company would be fed. On the other hand, the men and the dog were far too noisy to ever be successful at bringing back anything that could run, fly or swim away. It was painfully clear that Leliana was as useless in hunting as a flat ear. Sure, she could hit a target, but she was only slightly less noisy than the men when attempting to sneak through the forest, city girl that she was, and her mind wasn't nearly focused enough. A hunter couldn't just fire arrows at a target, a hunter had to kill in one swift strike otherwise you risked your prey running away with your arrow and then you were without lunch and also short a missile. Arrows were easy enough to make, of course, but why craft a new one when you could simply yank out the old one and use it again? Sadness stole in to her eyes as she remembered that Tamlen had been the one to teach her that the first time he took her hunting. She'd been so innocent and bright eyed then, completely in awe of the slightly older boy. He had only been an apprentice himself at the time, but he'd been so eager to teach her what he had been learning. Her eyes burned a little and her chest constricted tightly as the memories washed over her.

She took a deep breath to loosen her chest and closed her eyes, focusing everything she had on the hunt and willing thoughts of Tamlen away. "Hear me, Andruil, Lady of the Hunt," quietly intoned, reciting the long memorized prayer to her patron goddess. "You are sister of the moon, mother of hares. I am one of the people-I remember your teachings. I remember the Vir Tanadhal, which you have given us," she said before she traced the symbol of the goddess in the air before her. She then slowly kneeled in the leaves and dirt before the invisibly symbol.

"I am as the arrow, swift and silent," she continued as she took her quiver from her back and held it reverently before her. "I strike true; I do not waver, and do not let my prey suffer.  
That is your way." Next she took her bow from her back and did the same. "I am the bow. As the sapling bends, so do I. In yielding, I find resilience; in pliancy, I find strength. That is your way." Placing the quiver and bow back over her shoulders, she reached to the ground and grasped a handful of earth in one hand. With the other hand, she smudged the goddess's symbol on her forehead and continued to the last part of the prayer. "I am the wood. I receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. I respect the sacrifice of your children. I know that my passing shall nourish them in turn. That is your Way. I remember the ways of the hunter, and so you shall be with me."

Her ritual finished, Lyna rose, brushing the remaining dirt from her hands before sliding in to the shadows of the forest…

When she finally returned to camp a few hours later—and without a kill—there was no small amount of curiosity. One would have had to have been deaf and blind not to sense the frustration that poured off her shoulders as she stalked in to camp, muttering in very colorful Dalish, her brogue accent much deeper than usual. No one dared approach her as she began packing up camp. Morrigan simply shrugged as she followed suit and Alistair gulped and watched her nervously as he did the same. The dog tucked his ears back and opted to cower behind Alistair while Sten followed their lead without word or expression. Lyna felt a little guilt for not attempting to put on a happy face for their sakes, but was glad to see that those four knew better than to try to cheer her up. It was Leliana's unfortunate soul that eventually tried to intercede.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked haltingly.

"No," Lyna snarled abruptly as she shoved her bedroll in its sack.

"Are you certain?" Leliana pushed, clearly not receiving the message that Lyna wanted to be left alone right now.

"Yes," bit out, her voice rising a little with her anger.

"Well…if you think of anything…" Leliana ventured. "The maker does not wish his children to be unhappy, I will be glad to help in any way I can."

That did it. As Leliana's words left her mouth, Lyna's actions stilled and her face set itself in to a heated mask of defiance. She turned slowly and leveled Leliana with the most horrifying glare the sister had probably ever seen. "I don't care for your maker's wishes, Shem." Lyna spat the last word with as much venom as she could possibly muster. Leliana was in absolute shock. "You have your own reasons for being here and you are welcome to them, but you will respect that I want no part in your religion." Leliana nodded dumbly before she turned away, her shock still written across her face. Lyna glanced over at Alistair to see him giving her a reproachful look. Now that she was fully aware that he was the reason for her agitation, she stood up straight and turned to face him before crossing her arms and glaring at him in challenge.

Alistair returned the stare for only a moment before he let out a long belabored sigh, shook his head and walked over to Leliana, speaking what Lyna assumed was comfort in hushed tones. She scowled and rolled her eyes, though no one saw as they were no longer paying attention to her. She glared a moment longer before returning to packing up her things, "Be ready to leave in twenty minutes," she snapped loudly to the whole group. It was going to be a long day.

That was when Alistair finally approached. "You know, Leliana didn't deserve that."

"And what exactly should I have said, Alistair?" Lyna demanded, shoving her pack away as she turned to face him. "Oh yes, please ask your maker to grant me patience and his blessing on my next hunt, for lo, my heathen god has abandoned me?"

Alistair's stern expression didn't waver. "Her belief in Andraste and the maker has nothing to do with her offering to help you when she saw you were in a bad mood."

"Well I didn't ask for her help, now did I?" She was being petulant, and even though she knew it, she felt utterly powerless to quell her temper.

"Of course you didn't, because a Dalish accepting help from a shemlen would be horrible. Right up there with being squished in to goo by an ogre," He mocked in response.

Well that just made her sound unreasonable. She sputtered and scrambled for an excuse that didn't sound entirely inane, the wind having been taken completely out of her sails. When she finally managed to speak, her defense was as feeble as she had ever heard. "I…I am…I am having a bad day."

Alistair nodded and his posture and expression softened a little. "We've had a lot of those lately haven't we?"

Lyna pursed her lips and looked away, breathing heavily through her nose. She didn't want him to be kind and understanding, she wanted to fight; scream and yell and maybe hit something…like him…a few times.

"Look, I'm not saying you should perk up and pretend you're not in upset," he said as a wry smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "But maybe once you've finished frothing at the mouth, you could consider apologizing to Leliana? She didn't mean to offend your 'heathen' sensibilities."

That kind of teasing would have usually earned even a member of her own clan a solid beating, but for some reason, his playful smile and mischievous tone earned him a hesitant smile in return…she was a little disgusted with herself for not giving him said beating, all the same.

"Once I have finished, maybe." She replied. "But I make no promises."

"That, dear lady, is all I ask," He teased as he walked back over to his tent to finish packing. "Feel free to return to your frothing."


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **__So I thought I'd toss a little piece of trivia your way. The name Lyna is the default name for female Mahariel, and on a whim, I thought I'd research the name and see what I found. The name Lyna means "light" and is a variant of the name Alina. In Scotland, the name Alina is the female variant of the name Alistair. And of course, I now have to wonder if that was intentional on Bioware's part, because wouldn't that just be the sweetest thing?_

_As to the current chapter, I meant to have this done much sooner than it was, but I struggled a bit with the opening and how to finally settle Lyna and Ali's interpersonal problems…or at least the current one. Previously Lyna admitted that trusting Alistair would be hard for her, given her upbringing, and while neither of them are expecting a knife in the back anymore, I wanted to tackle the idea of emotional trust as well. After all, both are stinging from great losses still, and it would be unrealistic for them to be emotionally open with each other at this point. In this chapter I wanted to break those walls down a bit further because Lyna is due for a BIG reality check with Zathrian and she'll need Alistair to fall back on._

_As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and I will do my best to respond to each and every one in a timely manner._

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Once they had gotten on the road, tempers cooled. It seemed that while her earlier hunt had set the elf on edge, being on the move did something to ease her anger, and for that Alistair was thankful. Following his earlier suggestion, Lyna even approached Leliana and offered an embittered apology. No one believed she was sincere, of course, but the apology was given all the same and all parties took the offering in the best possible light; an effort to restore peace to their little tribe, even if the widely differing opinions remained unchanged. Leliana did her part as well, offering that she had been stupid to try and push her own beliefs on someone as proud and strong as Lyna, or anyone of the Dalish blood for that matter. The clumsy compliment was accepted with a curt nod and the subject was dropped.

Lyna, however, remained inexplicably twitchy.

It wasn't until late that afternoon that it registered in Alistair's mind that they were heading in the opposite direction of Redcliffe. Had it been overcast, he might not have even realized it, but as he admired the sun, setting behind them over the western horizon, the cardinal direction stuck in his head. They were traveling East...Redcliffe was west of Lothering. And that was when it finally occurred to him that Lyna had been dodging questions about their destination for days.

Upon entering Lothering, Alistair had stopped her short of the village entrance and told her he wanted to talk about where they intended to go first. He had immediately fumbled in to and awkward and hurried ramble about thinking Arl Eamon was still their best bet for help. Lyna hadn't answered him, instead asking Morrigan for her opinion, an opinion that was rather unhelpful at that, Alistair had thought. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke; an elf, a Templar and an apostate walk in to a heavily fortified castle…he snorted again thinking back on that rather preposterous notion.

When they left Lothering, he had tried again but all Lyna had been willing to say on the matter was that she would figure it out later. Well, it was later and either she had no idea where she was headed or she was refusing to share her plan with him. Nomadic as the Dalish were, he highly doubted the former. Having therefore concluded the latter, Alistair officially lost his patience and decided it was time to confront her before she once again…disappeared?

Looking around him now, he found that they were short one very temperamental elf. He supposed he should have been worried, but instead her absence—a frequent occurrence of late—just riled him up all the more. Where in the world was she constantly wandering off to? And why was it that whenever he actually wanted to talk to her she was absent? And she had more or less stepped in to the role of leader. If she wanted to lead, she needed to be here to do that. That was it! He stormed up to Morrigan, the only person Lyna seemed to really confide in at all. "Where is she, Morrigan?" He demanded.

For her part, Morrigan actually seemed to be stunned for a moment, though he suspected it had more to do with his suddenly choosing to speak to her of his own free will. "I know not, though if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you," she replied, regaining her usual haughty composure as she spoke.

"Maker help me, I have no patience for your spite right now," he spat.

"My, my, was that a threat?" Morrigan sang, now feigning surprise. "I'd be particularly interested to see you make good on it."

"Would you? Lyna's not here to protect you now—" he was abruptly cut off by a deceivingly strong yet delicate hand pressing against his chest.

"That is enough, you two," Leliana interrupted. "Lyna left about an hour ago to scout the roads ahead. She said she sensed darkspawn."

"Well that was a lie," Alistair muttered rather loudly, having not sensed any himself. He had meant it to be under his breath, but the unsurprised look that graced Morrigan's features told him not only that he was late in coming to that conclusion, but that Morrigan was likely aware of the reason Lyna had disappeared. Even more likely, Morrigan knew the reason that she had been disappearing for days now. "So, what's actually going on?"

"Tis not my place to say," Morrigan replied coolly. "Though, tis little wonder that she has kept her concerns from you if this is how you intended to broach the subject with her."

That observation brought him up short. Lyna was afraid to speak to him…he never wanted anyone to be afraid of him. What had he done to inspire that kind of reaction? Was it possible that she could foresee this conduct he was currently displaying? Guilt overtook him as the last ounces of anger drained from his face. "I…apologize, Morrigan," he suddenly replied. His sudden shift in mood seemed to do more to shock her than his initial reaction had. "You and I may not like each other very much, but I had no reason to attack you as I did just now."

Morrigan eyed him with suspicion for a long moment, the seconds ticking away as he waited for a scornful rejoinder. It never came. "Speak with her then," She finally replied by way of accepting his apology. "But were I you, I would be more careful in my approach."

Alistair glared, but nodded a begrudging agreement to the advice and after another moment Morrigan turned and began moving forward again. A soft hand came to rest on his arm in comfort and Alistair looked to the smaller woman besides him.

"From what little I know of Lyna, I think it is unlikely she is keeping things from you in an effort to hurt you," Leliana comforted. "Far more likely; she fears doing so and as such, is keeping things you may dislike from you." That level of insight seemed a little strange coming from a lay sister.

"You seem to have an unusually deep understanding of people for a lay sister," Alistair replied.

Leliana giggled and rolled her eyes playfully. "Alistair, I was not born in the chantry. There is far more to my story than that," she said vaguely. It had him very intrigued.

"You'll have to tell me sometime," he said, returning a weak smile.

It was late in to the night when Lyna finally returned and they stopped to set up camp. She stayed as far away from him as she could manage in the small group, and was never far from Morrigan, thereby discouraging the talk he needed to have with her. From the look of her, however, she was clearly exhausted and in dire need of sleep and so maybe it was for the best that their chat waited just a bit longer. Morrigan and Sten took the first watch once again with Leliana agreeing to take the second with Fen. Why she would want to take watch with a dog was beyond him; the animal was smart, but he wasn't much for conversation and Leliana's chatter was so incessant she often spoke in her sleep. All the same, it would allow Lyna a solid chunk of sleep and therefore allow Alistair to better confront her, gently albeit, about her evasiveness. A sleepy elf was a cranky elf, and the conflict between them didn't need any added fuel.

Hours later Alistair was violently roused from his sleep by a sharp cry coming from outside his tent. In seconds he was up and out of his blankets, yanking his sword from its scabbard and scrambling out of his tent to sounds of distress. His head whipped from side to side looking for the threat and found…absolutely nothing. It was dark out still; Leliana and Fen sat near the fire, looking to have been startled quite unceremoniously from their individual musings, while Lyna laid still asleep a couple of yards away, her eyes were screwed up tight against a terror he recognized all too well. Alistair relaxed as he tossed his sword back inside his tent and walked towards the middle of camp where Leliana and Fen sat by the fire and Lyna lay twisting and turning in her sleep.

Leliana shot him a worried look as Fen whined nervously beside her. "I didn't know if I should wake her; she was simply restless a minute ago, but then suddenly she started yelling and lashing about…"

Alistair sent her the most reassuring look he could manage. "She's alright, just a nightmare," he replied as he stifled a yawn. Alistair dropped to Lyna's side, gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name to wake her. She shook her head and whimpered unintelligibly in Dalish, distress lacing every syllable, but the dream held fast to her subconscious. He frowned a bit, concerned that she wasn't waking. Had she been a man Alistair would have simply taken his water skin and poured a bit over her face but that seemed a touch harsh, even if she was aggravating sometimes. He got up again and fetched his pack before returning to her side and retrieving a scrap of fabric from it. After folding it neatly, he took his water skin and poured its contents over the linen before squeezing out the excess water, carefully lifting her head and pressing the cold compress gently to the back of her neck.

Finally her eyes snapped open and she gasped loudly as she sat bolt upright, her body wound as tight as a loaded cross bow. Her hand flew to her waist where her knife was still sheathed and with a flash of light, he felt its cold steel press threateningly against his jugular. Crackling hazel eyes met his as she turned to face the phantom that had held her captive only moments ago. For a moment he felt the pressure behind the blade intensify and a subtle fear leapt into his chest as he realized she could very easily kill him right then and he would be powerless to stop it. He was unarmed and she was too quick; his throat would be slit in a matter of seconds. With that thought Alistair became very still, daring only to breathe, willing her to come back to herself. She blinked and a second later reality came to her as she realized the face before her was his and not that of some dark and twisted creature. Her eyes darted around frantically, half analyzing her surroundings, half searching for hidden nightmares lurking just beyond the mists. When no threat presented itself, the iron tension in her shoulders slackened, the knife pressing into the pulsing vein in his neck fell away, and her eyes shifted back to his. This wasn't the Lyna he had been coming to know; she was terrified, yet there was something so pure and honest and unguarded about that terror…it was strangely intimate how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be in that moment. Beneath his hand, her shoulders quaked and her chest heaved as she struggled to suck down enough air to calm her churning panic. Alistair couldn't help himself as his eyes fell to the rise and fall of her breast just a few scant inches from where his hand now rested on her shoulder. Her night shift was ridiculously thin...Alistair swallowed hard as he felt his chest tighten and his mouth dry.

Lyna must have finished gathering her scattered wits as she realized the indecency of the moment and quickly gathered her blankets to cover herself, her defenses slamming back in to place. He quickly wrenched both his eyes and his hand away, realizing he'd been caught and coughed loudly. "S-sorry," he muttered before he took a deep breath and continued, his eyes still cast away. "Bad dreams?" Lyna didn't answer, but her features fixed themselves into defiance despite her trembling. If she had spoken, he suspected that she would have told him it was none of his business. "It's just that you were shouting in your sleep—loudly—and not in a good this-is-private way either," He rambled, his discomfort robbing him of all verbal filters. "I mean, that is…" He stopped, sighed deeply in irritation at himself and waited for his brain to catch up with his mouth before he finally made eye contact with her again. "What I am trying to say is—"

"Emma Dareth, it was nothing" _I am safe_, she interrupted abruptly as she turned away to hide the anxiety roiling behind her mask. Maker, she was stubborn. He didn't believe her for even a second; he even got the distinct impression that she didn't want to discuss what she undoubtedly considered to be a weakness.

Alistair looked her square in the eyes, banishing all humor and blundering from his composure as he recited from memory the vision she had seen. "Hundreds of thousands of darkspawn, a dragon whispering to you words you can't understand, a nearly unquenchable urge to kill anything that moves…" Her eyes snapped back to his, fear and confusion warring with her pride and mulishness. "I've had it too," he replied by way of an explanation. "Part of being a grey warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was; hearing them. The archdemon, it…'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a blight."

There was a long silence as she fought against her primary urge to shrug him off again. Finally Lyna quietly replied, "Why didn't Duncan just tell everyone that?" She would, however, do her best not to acknowledge the rather compromising moment they had just shared.

"He did; He said he felt the archdemon's presence. Everyone just assumed he was guessing," Alistair said. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. When I saw you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you." He lowered his voice, attempting to comfort her without betraying her obvious distress to Leliana who was fidgeting nervously just beyond ear's reach. "It was scary for me the first time too."

Lyna's shoulders squared themselves as she lifted her ornery chin in to the air. "Emma din'arel." _I am not frightened_.

Alistair rolled his eyes and smiled knowingly at her. "I screamed like a little girl. Duncan said he thought I had someone in my room; not embarrassing at all."

"I suppose not everyone can face a dream with honor." The harsh response caught him off guard, and for once Alistair had no reply. He _had_ thought they were sharing a moment. _Guess not,_ he thought. "You should relieve Leliana of her watch," she continued, changing the subject. "I will dress and join you shortly." With that she reached for her pack and pressed it to her chest before she rose and walked towards the woods.

Several moments later when Lyna exited the woods, now fully clad in her usual leathers, Alistair was leaning against a tree, an irate expression marring his features. He'd had time to let the shock of her rebuking settle and turn from shock to offense, and eventually in to anger and now resentment. Who was she to speak to him like that, The Queen of Antiva? He'd come over and attempted to comfort her out of the flagging goodness of his heart, and Maker how it flagged, and she had yet again stomped all over his efforts. He could not figure out for the life of him what her problem was!

"If you like, we can stop until the darkspawn catch up with us so you have something to kill…" He groused. "It might make for more challenging sport than my self-confidence does."

"Stop," Lyna demanded suddenly.

Something snapped and Alistair decided he was done being patient with her. "Why are you so insistent on being angry?" He demanded. "A few days ago you were finally beginning to lighten up, but now we're right back to the little Dalish elf hating the whole world—"

"Ar din nuvenin ven Recliffe!" _I do not want to go to Redcliffe_, She shouted suddenly. "I understand that you trust this man, that you truly believe he is good and that he will help us, but I am inclined to remind you that before Ostagar, the wardens considered Loghain to be an honorable man as well."

"Arl Eamon _is_ an honorable man; he's nothing like Loghain!" He shouted back, spitting out the betrayer's name before it could leave it's foul taste in his mouth.

"And the junior Grey Warden knows this great and powerful man who controls whole armies and the opinions of every other noble in the land _so well_ that he would place himself and his only other friend willingly into his hands?" she ridiculed.

"Yes, I do." His response was curt.

"How!?" She implored, "Ir abelas Alistair, all I have heard from you is that he is a good man, but you have yet to give me any reason to believe that."

Alistair slammed his mouth shut. He didn't know what to say in response to that. Of course there was always the truth; that when he was an infant the man had taken him in a raised him like a son despite the suspicions and the rumors and the inconvenience? That the reason the arl had taken him in was because he was in fact his nephew and the son of the king? That the same man later brought home some Orlesian tart and allowed her to send the bastard prince to the chantry to be raised by strangers? None of it would sound good from Lyna's perspective.

On the one hand, her friend and fellow warden would then also be a noble in her eyes and only the Maker himself could predict what kind of dynamic that would add to their already rocky relationship when she started expecting him to treat her like a servant. Then there was the chantry bit, and he didn't feel like being placed in the same religious-nut-category that Lyna had already placed Leliana into. So what was left? The only thing Lyna seemed to understand was duty to and trust in those she considered family. Alistair hadn't considered Arl Eamon to be family for many years now, and he didn't want to put lie to those feelings, but maybe the child-guardian relationship would be enough to convince her to at least trust Alistair's assessment of the man, even if she didn't trust Arl Eamon himself.

"That's not exactly information I like to share Lyna, but if it's the only way to get you to trust my opinion of him, then fine. I'm a bastard; it's not pretty, but there it is. My mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle. She died when I was very young. Arl Eamon wasn't my father but he took me in, put a roof over my head. He was good to me and he didn't have to be."

She took the information in silently, giving nothing away. "Ma serannas," _thank you,_ she finally replied "For telling me that. I supposed I can understand the bond you feel to this man. However…" She paused and for the first time since they had begun shouting, she looked vaguely unsure of herself. "I am not comfortable going to Redcliffe…"

That got his attention. Prior to that moment her rhetoric had revolved around how shemlen couldn't be trusted, and more importantly how a shem lord couldn't be trusted—Loghain being her primary example. This was the first he had seen of her personal discomfort since leaving the wilds and he'd only been guessing at that at the time. He wanted to know more. "Why not?"

"I…do not like seeing my people in servitude," She replied. "And to my knowledge, all shemlen nobles, regardless of their quality, keep Elvhen servants. If a flat ear is only a servant and nothing else, then they are lucky…" she trailed off vaguely. "And if I am to be completely honest, I sorely miss being among the Elvhen. Like you said back in the Wilds, I didn't choose this life…"

His previously boiling irritation was suddenly and completely doused. "That's what this is all about? All the ill-temperedness, all the disappearing…" he realized, his jaw hanging slack.

"What do you expect from me Alistair?" She asked. "You were despondent after we left Ostagar, and when you finally did speak it was to tell me you wanted to go to Redcliffe. It was obviously important to you." She took a deep breath as she lowered her head to her hand to rub her temple. "And we are together in this, are we not? I couldn't simply disregard your wishes." The last part was said so quietly that Alistair barely heard it.

He continued to stare at her in disbelief, grasping at the straws of logic that were barely within reach. "But you did anyway…"

She was quiet again, not meeting his gaze as she chewed on her lip on shame. It was obvious she regretted the choice, but it didn't seem likely that she would apologize for it any time soon. As he watched her, he remembered what Morrigan had said about utilizing a different approach if he expected to resolve the problem that was hanging between them. He let out a long, flagging sigh before he continued. "Lyna, if you want to go to the Dalish first, then I will be fine with that." She finally met his gaze again. "I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help, but that doesn't mean I'm right or that anyone should listen to me."

She was watching him with uncertainty and for a while couldn't seem to put together a coherent sentence. Finally, she simply said, "Why are you leaving this up to me? I'm not sure any of this is a good idea."

Alistair smirked and gave a light hearted shrug. "You think Morrigan or Sten would listen to me? Look, Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know for sure where we should go either, and I'm not going to fight about it, so I'll do whatever you decide."

She looked away again, guilt sparking in her eyes. "I have been selfish." There was another pause. "I feel as if I should offer to turn back towards Redcliffe, but…"

He shook his head and replied, "That wouldn't make any sense. We are half way to the Brecilian Forest by now. No sense in undoing all that walking now." Lyna watched him apprehensively for a moment before she slowly nodded in agreement and turned to walk away. "Lyna," He called after her, a late thought occurring to him. She turned back half way, indicating she was listening. "Will you talk to me the next time you think I might not like something?" he asked. "I-I can't guarantee I won't get mad, but I promise to do my best not to."

Lyna smiled weakly and nodded her agreement again before she drifted away to the other side of the camp. She looked a little like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs and for a moment, Alistair felt sorry for yelling at her…only for a moment. She was the one who said it after all; they were in this together. It wasn't going to work if she got mad at him for things he hadn't even said or done. He well remembered what she had said about trust for humans being difficult for her people, and he had hoped he was beginning to make some headway, but days like today made him doubtful.

The rest of the early morning watch was uneventful; though there were moments when Alistair got the distinct impression that maybe it was a little too uneventful. Each time he reached out with his senses, searching for some indicator of something suspicious, he found nothing out of the ordinary and so he chalked it up to too much time on edge around Lyna and shook it off.

By the time the camp was stirring, he'd managed to push the feeling to the back of his mind and happily focused instead on helping Leliana prepare breakfast. For once, when they were done eating, Lyna didn't immediately steal away into the brush and instead managed to persuade Morrigan into helping clean the few dishes they carried. She was clearly still uncomfortable after their pre-dawn fight, staying close to the witch to avoid the awkwardness of his company, but he supposed it was an improvement.

When he returned to his tent to begin packing up his things for the day's journey he found a tiny parcel laying on his bedroll with a quick note scribbled on a bit of crumpled paper. It simply read _Abelas, -L_. He smiled at the sentiment as he set the note aside and untied the twine binding the small gift. Inside was a small carved statuette of a robed woman. He didn't even remember telling Lyna he like that sort of thing…it was a simple gift with no real meaning, but he was beyond touched that she had been paying such close attention to him to have discerned that on her own. Maybe he was making more progress with her than he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** I'm taking a break from the angst for a little while! We've finally worked out all the current emotional issues between Lyna and Alistair, but there are bound to be more when we get to the Dalish camp, so I thought some bonding time was called for. Additionally, I wanted to explore Dalish life a little more before we just drop poor clueless Alistair in the middle of a group of shem hating elves. This little break from the angsty action is going to span two chapters because this one ended up going on far too long._

_Enjoy! And please read and review. :-)_

_**Disclaimer:** Not mine, don't suit._

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Lyna walked far ahead of the rest of the group, though for the first time since they left Lothering, she remained within eyesight. Morrigan, Leliana, Alistair and the two dwarven merchants they had picked up earlier that morning made up the middle of their caravan, while Sten and Fen'Harel took the rear. It was freeing not to feel like she needed to avoid Alistair, though she still felt incredibly guilty for how she had tried to deceive him and such remained apart, her metaphorical tail still tucked between her legs. She wasn't sure what she had expected from him; maybe that they would arrive in the Dalish encampment and he would begin shouting and screaming at the injustice of losing his comrades in arms and then having his opinion completely ignored by an _elf_ of all things. That seemed beyond silly now, but then so did her choice to hide her needs from him. He had told her from the beginning that he would rather have her lean on him than to go on without her. Up until now she had only allowed herself to rely on him for physical support, and that was only when she had been delirious with fever. Then, this morning she had seen him completely put aside his own desires to assuage hers, and without even blinking. She didn't know how she was supposed to make that up to him, or if it was even possible, though she had certainly tried to pay down that debt a little with the gift she had given him this morning. She scoffed at herself for even entertaining the thought; as if a figurine could even begin to pay him back for allowing her to try and find her clan.

It was for this reason that she was surprised when she heard him noisily jogging up behind her, his mail clunking metallically with every foot fall. She turned to face him, now walking backwards and was again surprised to see him all grins, his eyes meeting her without reservation. Her guilt again clawed at her stomach and she lowered her eyes as she turned back to face forward.

"You know, you walk very quickly—and quietly—for someone so small," Alistair informed her as he approached.

"I suppose I do," She replied. She might not have said anything else, but it seemed as if the previous statement had implied a question as to why or how. "It is a part of the training I received as a hunter apprentice. One must be able to keep up with one's prey without alerting it to your presence."

Alistair nodded. "About that; I wonder if you might teach me. Being able to move like you do, well it would certainly come in handy."

Lyna hesitated. The Dalish kept their secrets closely guarded, especially those that gave them an edge in battle. It wasn't the only reason she wavered, however. "It takes many years to learn, Alistair, and I wouldn't know the first thing about teaching someone."

"Why not?" was the response.

She regarded him closely, unsure about revealing any more of her heart to him this day. Eventually she decided to go ahead and trust him. "I've never had an apprentice before. Tamlen was supposed to help me teach my first novice in the spring, but…"

Alistair held up his hands in surrender. "Say no more, I understand." He paused, eyed her speculatively for a moment, and then decided to continue. "But still, you had to be taught once upon a time. Couldn't you simply repeat the lessons that were imparted to you? And I'm a quick learner. I may not always think before I open my mouth, but I am a veritable sponge when it comes to learning."

Lyna leaned her head back to watch the sky as she let out a heavy sigh. This was a bad idea. She was fairly certain her clansmen would have had something to say about this…but she had spent her entire life hunting, fighting and sparing with the Dalish. If Alistair were able to learn their methods, it would certainly be an advantage in battle. On the other hand, being a hunter was a way of life for her people. In fact it was practically its own belief system with its own religion. She knew no other way to teach it, and she would not offend the gods by ignoring the role they played in it. Would he be receptive? "I suppose I could try to teach you…" She trailed off.

"What is it?" He asked.

She vacillated a moment longer in her uncertainty before she finally replied. "If I am to teach you, I will teach you in the Dalish tradition. That means paying your respects to my gods. Can you do that?"

Alistair shot her a dubious grin. "I may believe in the Maker, but that doesn't make him the only god out there. After all, we're facing a Blight because of an old Tevinter god, am I right? And I've never been the best Andrastian."

"Ma nuvenin," _as you wish,_ she replied. "We can begin the next time a hunt is needed."

"Um…"

"What is it?" She asked, trying to keep the irritable and wary tone from her voice.

Alistair gave her a look like he expected her to start yelling. "I may have given the last of our food stores away to the last cart-full of refugees we passed." He wasn't completely wrong.

"I have been hunting non-stop, how much food did you give them?" Her voice rang out shrilly.

"There was less than you think!" He quickly excused, waving his hand in front of himself in submission. "Warden appetites and all…and Sten's a big guy, he eats almost as much as I do."

She eyed him suspiciously, though it lacked any real gravity. "Well then I suppose we will need to hunt before dinner," she finally replied.

Alistair smiled that gleefully childish smile of his as he asked, "Shall I tell the others to set up camp early?"

"No," she said. "We will run ahead and if they manage to surpass us, I can track their path. I will just inform Morrigan where we are headed."

"What if they encounter darkspawn? They can't sense them," Alistair asked

"We will not be venturing so far," she assured him. "And Morrigan can sense them as well…" Alistair's expression was one of complete disbelief, prompting her to explain. "You never questioned how she lead us out of the Wilds without encountering any? Or how she and Asha'belannar kept their home safe with the hoard massing around them?

"I just figured Flemeth was too scary even for the darkspawn. Well, that and all the entropy magic around that hut," He replied.

"She says it has something to do with that magic." She shrugged her shoulders before she explained, "I am no mage; I did not bother to ask questions I would not understand the answers to."

"Probably a good idea," Alistair replied as Lyna turned and walked back to Morrigan to explain where she was headed. Morrigan rolled her eyes but nodded all the same, explaining that she would certainly be much happier if Alistair were to silence himself more often. The racket caused by his armor whenever he moved was just as grating to her nerves as his voice. Lyna rolled her own eyes in response but smiled knowingly at Morrigan before making her way back to Alistair.

"First, leave your armor with the others," she instructed. "We will need to actually catch something in order to feed everyone tonight, thanks to your excess of generosity," she ribbed. "but before we can hunt I must teach you how to move about unheard. While you are there, grab a book from Bhodan." Alistair nodded before running back to the dwarf Bhodan's cart to divest himself of his armor. As she waited, Lyna walked towards the forest that sat a ways away from the road before finding a fallen log to sit on as she attempted to recall her first lesson with Tamlen years ago. She smiled forlornly as she recalled him patiently guiding her aim, reminding her that in an actual hunt the target didn't just sit there waiting to be hit. This would be very different from shooting arrows across the archery range. It surprised her that the thought didn't bring the usual mixture of pain guilt and regret with it. To be sure, it was still there, but it was less intense and mixed with a small amount of fondness as well. The words to the song she had sang to Alistair a few nights ago were right, time would again be the joy it once was.

She took a deep breath, refocusing on how she would teach Alistair. Sorting through the lessons she remembered, she realized they would be of little use because she had been handling a bow and arrow since before she could draw the string and her body was small, compact and lithe, making it much easier for her to dart in and out between rocks, trees and bushes. He would not be able to duck through the small spaces that she could. It would probably be best to have low expectations in regards to the results they might see. It was possibly twenty more minutes before Alistair returned, a close fitting set of leathers in place of his usual plate armor—no doubt Bhodan's idea. She looked him up and down and had to quickly stifle the giggle that was attempting to escape her lips.

"What?" he almost whined.

"Ir abelas, but these will be just as noisy as your armor. You have them on all wrong," she explained as she continued to take in the loose fitting leathers. Truthfully they would still be much quieter than his plate armor, but it was still a far sight from acceptable by Elvhen standards.

"What do you mean?" he asked, twisting around to look at what he had moments ago considered a very well done job of suiting up.

"It is too loose," She replied. "Here, let me show you how these should fit you." With that she came up to him and without asking permission lifted up his arms for him before unbuckling the plackart on both sides and then fastening one set of buckles at the tightest setting before turning to the other side and pulling an opposing buckle as tight as it would go.

"Ow!" Alistair yelped as Lyna caught some of his skin in the buckle.

Lyna snatched her hands away quickly. She had been so preoccupied with the ill-fitting garment she had completely neglected the realization that she was in fact touching Alistair. They had been physically close before, but only during battle, and she had allowed him to carry her when she had been tainted, but she had not willingly broken the touch barrier of her own accord yet. It was somewhat of a shock to realize it had seemed completely comfortable and natural before she had allowed herself to think too much about it. "Abelas!" She cried, though in her mind it was about the touching, not the skin pinching. "Maybe I should just tell you how to do this…"

"I'm fine, just a little pinch. I can handle it," Alistair teased with his lopsided and mischievous smirk.

"No. Obviously, it's just…" She stuttered as she blushed fiercely and looked away, suddenly sounding a lot like the man in front of her. "I didn't want to overstep my bounds."

"There was no overstepping, I promise," he replied, trying to catch her eyes. "I'm useless with this stuff, I need your help."

"If you're sure," she said, meeting his eyes as her hands tentatively reaching towards the last buckle on the chest piece. When he nodded his assent she took the last buckle and yanked it as tight as it would go. He winced, but said nothing and so she continued by bending down to refit the cuisse and greaves and then standing up to readjust the pauldrons and then turning his forearms to help him with the vambraces. As she worked the buckle at his wrist, she grazed his skin with her finger tips and she felt a strange, hot, but not unwelcome tingle. The flush remained on her cheeks throughout.

Finally, after handing him the gloves she twirled away as quickly as she could manage and headed in to the forest, mentally forcing herself to slow down so as not to lose him. She only went maybe ten yards in before stopping. Right now, she only needed the dried leaves and twigs the forest floor would provide. When they stopped, she turned back to face him and when his attention was again on her she simply said, "Watch."

And he did.

Lyna stepped over to a fallen log before climbing up on it and placing Bhodan's book atop her head. "The first lesson to moving with silence is balance," she said as she easily walked the length of the log and back without even a single near wobble. She then hopped down and handed the book to Alistair, indicating it was his turn. He fell off the log three times, dropped the book six and spent the rest of the time lurching hard to one side or the other. This was going to be a long process, she thought as he looked to her smiling and she drew a circle in the air with her finger, telling him to try it again. After five more attempts she allowed him to step down. "You should probably practice that as often as possible," she informed him.

"It wasn't that bad," he pouted.

"For a shem, maybe not," she smirked. "It wouldn't get you very far in an Elvhen hunt though." Alistair's pout deepened and she couldn't help but laugh. "We're going to walk for a while, and then we are going to run."

"That's not going to be as easy as it sounds is it?" He asked.

"I doubt it," she replied as she turned and began walking slowly. "On a hunt, we walk because we have not yet found any prey, or because we are closing in on our prey and do not want to be heard." She explained. "Because we are trying to avoid detection, we want to avoid stepping on dried leaves and twigs. If you'll watch my feet, you will see I am carefully choosing each step that I take, stepping on moss, rocks, fallen logs and occasionally the bare dirt. These surfaces rarely make noise. When I set my feet down I do so lightly, not placing any weight on them until I am certain doing so won't cause any noise." With that she took a few silent steps, deliberately going very slowly so that Alistair could watch her every move and follow the thought pattern she had just explained. "When you encounter bushes or tree branches in your path, instead of pulling out your sword and hacking at them, you should find a new path around them; duck under branches, over dried sticks, around large bushes...Running is the same, just faster. Now follow me. I will try to speed up slowly."

They walked at a snail's pace for probably two hundred paces before she began picking up speed. Initially Alistair made a chorus of noise with every step, picking bad terrain to put his weight in to, but he quickly learned how to gauge the environment and improved a fair bit in that first stretch. They continued walking for a few more miles before Lyna challenged him to run. That was a disaster. Alistair was making a veritable ruckus behind her as his brain failed to keep up with his feet. Considering his brain rarely kept up with his mouth, she wasn't really surprised. They'd gone no more than one hundred paces when she heard a crash, a yelp, and a gelatinous sounding squish. She winced, a good idea of what had happened already playing through her mind. She looked back.

Behind her, Alistair had been so preoccupied with his feet and where they landed that he had failed to see the rather large branch laying atop a substantially sized muddy pit. He had stepped on the leaves of the branch, his weight landing unevenly on his foot, and slid, falling forward and landing face first in the mud. By this time he had pulled his face back out of the mud and was in the process of both spitting it out of his mouth and wiping in from his eyes. Mud covered the entire length of his front, right down to the toes and he looked for all purposes like a little boy who had been playing in the stuff all day long. Lyna couldn't help the bark of laughter that burst free from her lips.

"You think this is funny, do you?" He groused as he pouted yet again, though there was a sparkle of humor in his eye. "Morrigan is just going to _love_ this…"

Lyna walked back and crouched down in front of him. She couldn't hide her smile, but she did her best to look sympathetic. "Ir abelas, Lethalin, but it is quite funny," she replied as she reached out and pulled a leaf from his hair.

"Oh yeah?" He demanded, the spark of humor in his eyes blossoming in to full on mischief as he quickly grabbed hold of her arm and, before she could react, yanked her down in the mud with him. She managed to avoid the face plant Alistair had achieved, her hands bracing her fall, but she did manage to get it all the way up to her breast bone, with a few globs of the stuff splattering on to her face and her hair.

"OH! Ma halam shem'alas!" _You are finished, you dirty human, _she cried in mock aggravation as she lifted herself out of the muck and with lightning speed rose up and smashed a fresh handful of muck in his face, followed by another in his hair, and as he squirmed she dropped a third and final glob down the back of his pants.

With that he yelped loudly in surprise and dodged as far away from her as he could. Spewing out the mud in his mouth, he held out his hands in front of his face and yelled, "Enough, enough! You win!" That satisfied her and she watched as he attempted to clean the rest of the muck of his face. "Dirty fighter!" he cried as he stuck his tongue out in her general direction.

"You started it," She smirked.

His face finally free of the majority of the muck he let out a heavy sigh and glared at her. "I'm not going to be able to concentrate on anything with mud in my britches," he said as he waddled forward a bit to make his point.

Lyna hooted with laughter again and after a couple moments managed to calm her hysterics enough to say, "I think I hear a stream up ahead. We should both wash up."

"What?!" Alistair squeaked. "At the same time?"

Lyna was too amused with herself to blush at the implication this time. "No, of course not; you clean up first and I will scout the area to see what kind of game I can find." With that, she lead Alistair to the afore mentioned stream and then crossed it to begin tracking, only glancing back for a moment. She wasn't trying to catch a glimpse of him without his shirt on, or at least that's what she told herself when she did. The flush that had been absent from her cheeks a moment before now returned with renewed vigor as she stared, half hidden in the brush. She had never seen a mad built like that in her life! Elvhen men were all shorter and lean and lanky, and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Frequently, it was quite lovely in fact, but the expanse of muscle on Alistair's chest was simply intoxicating beyond anything she would have ever thought to witness. Her face burned and hot desire pulsed through her and for a moment she didn't think she had completely lost her mind, wanting a shemlen of all things.

Then Alistair reached for the waist of his pants and while part of her mind begged her to keep watching, the larger and thankfully more rational part quickly reminded her that he was her brother in arms, and a shem, and what her clan say? What would Ashalle say—what would keeper Marethari say? The rational part of her mind vehemently demanded that she turn her eyes away. She obeyed and quickly put all her discipline in to tracking something down for dinner. People would be hungry in an hour or so, and they still had to kill something and catch up with their group.

With that, Lyna disappeared silently into the brush.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the long break between chapters. I had a hard time getting this one going. Innitially I wanted to write a hunting scene, but somewhere along the way it turned into this. I must say I am much happier with this outcome. I might still write a hunting scene, but for right now I really like how this one turned out. We've seen a lot of angry, bitter, self-centered Lyna and since I started this fic off with the day she and Alistair met in Ostagar, you didn't really get the chance to see what she was like before her life went all to pot. This chapter gives you a chance to get to know a very personal side of Lyna, one that is kind and gentle and loving. I've tried to hint at it in the past with her concern for Alistair after the wardens were masacred, but I feel like this chapter really ties that all together really well.

As always, your questions, comments and concerns are always GREATLY appreciated.

* * *

Icey cold water cascaded down over Alistair's body. His muscles ceased tightly in the wake of the freezing rivulets and his skin turned to goose flesh. "Blasted elf," he grumbled to no one in particular. He had been telling the truth about not being able to concentrate on her lesson with a giant glob of mud in his knickers, but he was quickly coming to realize he hadn't really thought the whole cleaning up process all the way through. It would serve no purpose to wash himself and then to put his muddy clothes back on so he was forced to wash them as well. He now glowered at the linens and leathers that were drip drying on a nearby tree, half dreading the moment he would have to dress himself again…but he and Lyna had yet to do any actual hunting, and he knew that she would not allow them to return to their companions without a kill substantial enough to feed all six of them. He was doomed to spend the next couple of hours cold and wet, it seemed.

For her part, Lyna had more or less disappeared. It occurred to Alistair that had she been anyone else he might have been worried by how long she had been gone. Still, she had been gone a while and Alistair's curiosity as to her whereabouts had been piqued. He grimaced again at the wet clothes before setting his jaw and climbing in to them, attempting to strap on the leathers the way Lyna had earlier. It took him longer than he might like, but after a good long struggle and starting over twice he finally managed what he believed to be a passable job. Smiling proudly to himself, he crossed the stream and headed in the direction he had seen her go. He was under no delusion that he would be able to find her under normal circumstances—he didn't have half the tracking skills of a week old pup—but he could just barely feel the pull of the taint in his blood; the feel of like seeking like.

It was a difficult sense to describe with words, he mused; a bit like déjà vu, a bit like hearing someone else's thoughts, and a bit like the feeling you get when you're being watched. When they were closer together it was positively distracting at times, but still it held this strange feeling of right-ness. He supposed that if he had ever had a spiritual experience, it would be much like that. During his first few months in the compound with the other wardens, this strange itch at the back of his mind had nearly driven him mad. He even begged Duncan one night to send him away on a mission so he could have some peace from the Maker-cursed buzzing. Duncan had chuckled knowingly and simply told Alistair he would get used to it with time, he might even come to like it and even miss it when he was eventually sent away for weeks at a time. Alistair had whimpered like a fussy child until one of the mage wardens had finally given him a tonic to dull his senses enough to let him sleep through a whole night.

There was a darker side to the taint's seductive call that Alistair didn't discover until they reached Ostagar and the darkspawn hoard was within range. He'd felt increasingly agitated as they drew closer. Agitation turned to irritation, irritation to outright anger, and by the time they were in the shadow of the Tower of Ishal, his nerves were so frayed he was snapping at every man who looked at him funny. Finally, one of the senior wardens approached him and offered to spar with him, help him work out some of his aggression. Not one minute into their match blood lust began to pump through his veins like thick sewage and Alistair found it difficult to hold himself back. The toxic sludge in his mind was urging him on, demanding that he _kill, kill, kill! _Alistair hammered away at the figure before him, no longer a known companion but a barrier to be smashed, destroyed and overcome before moving on to his next victim…and then the world went dark.

When he had come to, his hands and feet were bound and the senior warden who had challenged him stood before him, a garish bruise already travelling across the left side of his face. "I suspected you were feeling the darkspawn taint when you started snapping at strange servants yesterday," the man explained. "You will be bound until you can master the blood lust, Alistair. You're too much a danger right now." It had taken him three long days, but when he was finally smiling again, he had been released. He was still a little testy when the beasts were nearby, but the blood lust didn't rule him as it had that day.

A sharp noise caught his attention all of a sudden and he blinked. The sound of a twig snapping and the rustling of ground cover brought his mind flying back to the present as his eyes scanned the thickening forest. He'd walked much deeper into the woods than he had realized and all around him the tree trunks had become thicker and the canopy overhead allowed less of the late afternoon sunshine to reach the forest floor. Beside him a large outcropping of slate stone, covered by decades of moss growth, obscured his vision for a few meters and so Alistair crouched low, intending to work his way around it as quietly as he could. He looked to his feet and carefully selected a bared patch of dirt for his next step and then a moss covered stone for the next before another snap forced him to halt his progress. He heard the rustle of dried leaves again before he looked up but when he did the strong graceful body of a halla stag stepped out from behind the boulders.

For a moment Alistair couldn't believe his eyes. He had never seen the halla in real life before, but he had heard from the other Templars that the horns of a halla stag were worth quite a ransom. His mind flitted to his armor, in great need of repair after the attack at Ostagar, to his belly, which had gone weeks without bread or fruit or vegetables, or—maker preserve him—_cheese_! And Morrigan needed proper clothes. And actually, so did Lyna; those leathers of hers were distracting…And Sten and Leliana needed armor. For a moment he thought of just how impressed the little elf would be that he managed to bring back such a spectacular prize, and a grin spread across his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, with his eyes never leaving the creature, Alistair reached behind his back for the bow and one of the arrows Bhodan had lent him for the hunt. Quietly, he notched the arrow and leveled the bow at the animal before he pulled back on the bow string. Further and further he pulled, until the string was cutting painfully into his finger tips and his shoulder shook from the effort. He closed one eye, sucked in a slow deep breath and—

"Alistair, no!"

The arrow flew from his bow, embedding itself in the halla's shoulder before the animal cried out in pain and bolted into the forest.

"Oh you idiot shemlen, what have you done?" Lyna gasped rhetorically from behind him before she took off after the stag as if she were chasing after her very life.

Alistair watched in shock, still not quite sure what had just happened. No? Why on earth would she not want him to shoot the halla? They had no food back at camp and hadn't they come out here to hunt? And since when did Lyna refer to him as an idiot? That was Morrigan's thing _and_ he wasn't stupid, nor did he think, up until this point that she thought so…although, again, he had no idea what was going on. He threw the bow back over his shoulder and took off after her, no longer caring how much noise he made. He just didn't want to lose track of her again. He stumbled through the forest at top speed, crashing through branches, and stepping on every twig that landed in his path. He was practically blinded by the leaves hanging in his line of sight and so he was really just following the noise made by the retreating stag. Just as he rounded another outcropping, the noise up ahead ceased and before he could stop to try and ascertain his next step he suddenly impacted with her much smaller body.

Lyna grunted and was nearly sent flying with the impact, but by simple instinct he lunged forward and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her backwards out of the fall and securely against his chest. Before he could say anything, or properly register the feel of his bare hand against the soft skin of her abdomen, she twisted to face him. Her expression was a mixture of anger, concern and warning as she held a finger to her lips to signal him to stay silent. Alistair nodded his agreement to the command, but his mind was unexpectedly struggling to remember the halla they were chasing as other parts of his body registered the presence of the scantily clad savage in his arms. A deep flush colored his cheeks as his palm began to burn against the feel of her tiny but muscular back, and his arm tingled where her oddly delicate and yet callused hand had landed. He swallowed as heat continued to gather in his face…and in other places. It wasn't the first time he'd been this close to a woman, granted, but the last one had also been wearing a _lot_ more clothing—armor in fact—and even then, he had yanked his arm away the moment he'd had the chance. Now, with this fiery and temperamental force of nature pressed up against his chest, he couldn't seem to move. Before he could process another thought however, she was gone, ducking out of his reach and under the branches separating them from a small clearing. He blinked a couple times as his head cleared before taking a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over his face. _Maker, that was awkward!_ He thought as he ducked his head and concentrated on calming himself for another moment. When at last he felt as if his cheeks had returned to their natural shade, he followed after Lyna as quietly as he could manage, ducking beneath the branches and in to the clearing.

Towards the far edge of the clearing he found her slowly, carefully approaching the stag, her hand stretched out before her with palm turned upwards as she murmured gentle Dalish words of what he assumed were comfort and reassurance. _Ma emma din'harel; na din'u adah'len; ar'din nuvenin na'numin; ar nuvenin na'reth. _The stag slowly backed away from her in fear as she attempted to approach, but the arrow in its shoulder gave it too much pain and hindered its progress. After several tense moments, Lyna slowly laid her hand along the side of the stag's face before slowly stepping closer to lightly run her hand up and down its neck in soothing circles. She continued to speak to it softly, her other hand joining the first in comforting the great animal. After another moment, Alistair's jaw dropped as the halla nuzzled her face with his own and then slowly, but painfully dropped to the forest floor to allow her to care for it. Her hands never left the creature's body as she circled around to where the arrow protruded from its shoulder and then bent down to examine the damage.

Without looking behind her, Lyna signaled Alistair to join her. He was hesitant, not wanting to startle the animal in to running and possibly trampling the small elf, but he knew that whatever had angered her, he was the cause and he needed to do what he could to fix it. He approached as quietly as he could, making his progress painfully slow, but when he final knelt down beside her, Lyna shot him one of the angriest expressions he had ever seen grace her face outside of battle.

"What were you thinking you stupid shem?" She demanded in a heated whisper.

"Uh…yay dinner?" He replied sheepishly.

Lyna's expression didn't darken any further with his attempt at humor, but she let out and exasperated sigh as she turned her attention back to the arrow. "We do not hunt the halla, Alistair; they are sacred, our noble companions; no animal is more revered by the Dalish," She explained, her voice losing its force the longer she spoke. "The goddess Ghilan'nain, guides them and they in turn have never led us astray."

"You make sacred and noble companions pull your landships?" Alistair asked, incredulous and extremely confused.

"Of course not!" Lyna snapped. She closed her eyes and for s spell said nothing as she schooled her voice and her temper, all the while still soothing the halla. "Before the days of Arlathan, Ghilan'nain was Elvhen and the chosen of Andruil, the goddess of the hunt. One day she cursed a hunter who dared to kill a hawk and a hare—animals sacred to Anduil—without offering a proper offering to the goddess. Later the hunter attacked her, leaving her for dead in the forest, both wounded and blind. Andruil turned Ghilan'nain into the first halla so she could find her way home, and after she and her sisters brought justice to the hunter who attacked her, she spent the rest of her days guiding her clan and bearing their warriors in battle." She turned back to him having completed the tale. "We don't make them pull the aravels, they offer to do it for us."

Alistair met her gaze, now feeling sorrowful and quite ashamed of his actions. He might have questioned her belief in the idea that the halla chose to pull the landships, but he was seeing for himself at that very moment how the animal allowed her to comfort and care for it. "I…I'm sorry Lyna, I didn't know," He replied morosely. "Halla horns are very valuable in the cities. I was simply thinking that an animal this size could feed us for a few days and that we could make enough money off the horns to buy new armor and weapons for everybody."

Lyna nodded, accepting the apology. "Well thankfully you didn't hurt him too much," She said. "Once I get this arrow out and apply a couple poultices, he should heal quickly and then we can hunt. I tracked a gazelle heading in the direction we are traveling and we should be able to catch up to her before it gets too dark." She then turned her attention to her pack. "Would you please grab my herbs and my water skin and then chew up the elfroot so I can pack the wound with it?" She asked. Alistair nodded and packed a few stems of elfroot in to his mouth, chewing vigorously. Lyna leaned in close to the animal and whispered "Alright Lethalin, be strong. This will only hurt for a moment." Her tiny hands grasped the shaft of the arrow, and with a mighty pull, she yanked the arrow out of its shoulder. She threw her body across the Halla's and again rubbed its neck, cooing nonsensical comfort, as it cried and squirmed from the sudden pain. When it again quieted, she glanced at the arrow and then worriedly back at Alistair. "I was unable to get the arrow head out. I will need your help now."

"What can I do?" He asked after pushed the wad of elfroot over in to one of his cheeks. He was a little overwhelmed, though eager to undo his wrong.

Lyna grabbed one of his hands and then sighed, shaking her head. "It will not be easy," she informed him. "Your hands are too big to pull out the arrow head, I will have to do that…alright, I need you to back away about five paces and circle around his body so that he can see you."

Alistair nodded and rose, before stepping back and slowly, cautiously circling around to stand directly in front of the animal. "Very good," Lyna nodded. "Now do as you saw me do before, when I approached him; reach out to him and approach slowly and speak to him, softly."

"But I don't speak Dalish," Alistair protested.

"It doesn't need to be Dalish, the tone of your voice is what matters," She explained. "Words mean nothing if the intent behind them is understood."

Alistair nodded. He really didn't like the idea of approaching a wounded wild animal, but he was pretty certain Lyna would never forgive him if he refused to help; just as certain as he was that he would never forgive himself if she was hurt because he couldn't work up the nerve to do so. Of course then there was another problem; he really wasn't sure what to say to an animal. The stag watched him cautiously from where it lay on the ground next to Lyna. Alistair slowly reached out his hand and took a deep breath before taking a couple small cautious steps towards it, but stopped abruptly when it began fretting.

"Alistair, you have to speak to him. He doesn't trust you," she reminded him. Alistair sighed and stared down at the stag as uncertainty clawed at him. Lyna rolled her eyes in frustration and finally advised, "Try thinking of him like that cursed Mabari you insist I keep." Alistair cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged and tried again.

"It's alright boy," He said softly, feeling incredibly foolish as he took another step forward. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to rub that big beautiful face of yours while the nice lady takes the big bad arrow head out of your shoulder." He smiled and shook his head at his own ridiculousness. Never in his life would he have guessed to find himself in this position. As he took the final step up to the halla, he gently placed his hand on its nose and slowly ran it up the side of its face and then down its neck, finally reaching the place Lyna's hand had been previously and began rubbing large circles,

Lyna nodded, smiling now. "Very good, now just keep doing that. He's going to fret a little while I dig this out, but he trusts me and now he trusts you, so we should be alright."

Alistair looked the halla in the eye, his own apprehension still simmering beneath his calm exterior. "Don't kick me, alright?" he asked the stag. "The witch who has to heal me if you do isn't very good." The halla didn't respond, but began fretting as Lyna's fingers began probing the wound. Its head bucked a little and Alistair renewed his cooing, continuing to rub circles along its neck. He couldn't help the sense of awe that came over him as he helped a woman half his size care for a beast that could easily trample them both if it wanted to. She was so caring and gentle and yet strong and sure of her actions and for a moment he had the oddest feeling that he was witnessing a side of Lyna she didn't often share with others. Not that he'd given her much choice, but still, it felt like he was sharing a very special moment with her.

Finally after a tense few minutes, Lyna smiled brightly as she held up the arrowhead and held out a hand for the elfroot she had asked Alistair to chew up earlier. Pulling it out of his mouth, he placed the soggy mass in her hand and watched as she first poured the entire contents of her water skin over the wound and then packed the hole with the chewed elfroot. When the task was complete, she stood and signaled Alistair to back away from the Halla. As if on cue, the stag stood back up and ran off into the woods.

"That was kind of amazing," He breathed, watching the stag disappear before he turned his attention back to Lyna. When he saw her smile in response, he had to elevate that amazing to incredible. That moment—seeing that brilliant smile on her face, one that lit up the entire world—was when Alistair realized that Lyna was something special.


	12. Chapter 12

They would reach the Dalish camp by nightfall, she surmised.

When dawn broke that morning, Lyna had kicked each of her companions out of bed. They were getting close, and while she would never admit to the reason for her urgency, she was anxious to see friendly faces again. Well…hopefully friendly faces. She was a bit worried about how this clan would react to humans in their midst. It seemed the rest of the party was anxious about the upcoming confrontation as well, as they went about packing up camp with nary a word. There were a lot of nasty rumors about the Dalish in the cities, and the clans were usually happy to let those rumors stand uncontested if it kept the shemlen away. For her part, Lyna wasn't certain whether or not she should dissuade them from their fears. The Dalish didn't eat their children or sacrifice lost travelers to their gods, but she'd met more than one hunter in her life that was happy to shoot a human on sight. Had she never been tainted, she would likely still be one of them.

She just had to keep faith that seeing one of their own amongst the humans would stay their arrows long enough for her to explain that she and Alistair were Grey Wardens—not that that would dissuade the hunters from shooting them if they so much as breathed wrong. Still, it would buy them some protection. The blight threatened everyone; it wouldn't do to kill the only ones fighting it.

When they finally were on the road again, they had passed a small group of refugees from Gwaren traveling north. Alistair had called a greeting to them before they approached, and then bartered food and a few less crucial supplies in exchange for information. The information was spotty at best, and truly probably much closer to fantastical. Lyna had of course heard stories of werewolves in the forest before, but she had never given them much credence. She had never seen so much as a single unusual piece of fur, and certainly nothing so abhorrent as a body mauled by large animals. Finally a young man spoke up, saying a dwarven merchant had also warned them against the elves that hunted the creatures; they were vicious savages, murdering anyone who looked upon them.

Morrigan cackled a bit at the naiveté and asked, rather caustically, "Then pray tell where this story comes from?" Alistair and Leliana glared at her as the boy stuttered and conceded that he didn't know. Lyna stood far to the back, biting her tongue since the moment the word 'savage' escaped the boy's lips. That was why Alistair usually did the talking; Lyna was too likely to draw her daggers on people.

That's when the apprehensive glances started. Mostly, they came at her from Leliana and Alistair, both of them suddenly twice as wary about what she was leading them in to. Of the two, Leliana seemed the most worried, nervously wringing her hands from time to time, and sometimes in conjunction with the fearful gazes. The looks she received from Alistair were quite different, though no less uneasy, and they were broken up by looks of an entirely different nature. If she didn't know better, she might have interpreted their nature as admiration…but that seemed highly unlikely; all they ever did was fight and chastise each other. Even Morrigan was a little on edge. She would never admit to a weakness such as fear, but Lyna could see the tension in her ramrod straight back and the intense way she watched the trees as they ventured further and further south long the Brecilian Passage.

It was early afternoon when Lyna began seeing the tell-tale signs of a Dalish presence; tree trunks with wounds from arrow heads, nearly invisible hunting traps and even the occasional hidden offering to the gods and goddesses, obscured by leaves and twigs and bushes to hide them from prying human eyes. After what seemed like another hour or so of walking, Lyna spotted the markers, symbols carved in to the dirt, tree and stone marking the borders of this clan's territory. Lyna had long thought the practice of little use; the shemlen wouldn't know what they were looking at if they managed to notice the insignia at all, and the Dalish never travelled far enough from their own clans to come in contact with another…although she supposed she was the walking contradiction to that point.

Leliana noticed the markings as well and exchanged another worried look with Alistair.

"By the Creator's, what is the problem?" Lyna finally demanded as she threw her arms up, having had enough of them walking on eggshells. True, she and Leliana didn't get along and she and Alistair rarely went more than a couple of days without encountering some sort of misunderstanding, but this was nearly as bad.

"I am sorry," Leliana responded, hoping to avoid another confrontation. "It's just that we are getting close and I do not wish a clash with these people. The Dalish will not look kindly on humans wandering in to their territory."

Alistair nodded in agreement, but didn't speak up immediately. He chewed on his lip for a moment, indecision written on his face. "Are we going to be okay once we get there?"

"We're not savages ," Lyna informed them shortly, though the same question had been running through her mind all day.

"No, of course you're not, but…" Alistair seemed to be considering his words carefully now. "Well, you were really prickly when we first met and I know that had a lot to do with the taint and being ripped away from your clan to fight someone else's war, and being leered at and talked down to by the other recruits, but at least some of that had to do with the thousands of humans in general…I'm just worried that these elves are more likely to shoot first and ask questions later…or not ask any questions at all."

"It's not a completely unreasonable fear," she responded in an impertinent tone, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

"Well that made me feel better…" Alistair mumbled.

Lyna was being difficult, and what's more, she knew it. She watched their faces for a moment, considering her response. She didn't want to scare them unnecessarily—well, not Alistair anyway—but at the same time, she didn't want them striding cockily up to the first elf they saw, demanding to see the keeper, either. Finally, she decided that nothing but the cold hard facts would do in this situation. "Truthfully, I don't know," she finally replied, letting out a heavy sigh. "My clan was respectful of Duncan when he came to our camp, but he was carrying my tainted body at the time. That would have garnered him a great deal of protection, and once he informed the Keeper that he was a Grey Warden, she would have insisted on his safety, but that doesn't mean that this clan will behave as mine did." She then gestured at the marker on the tree before them. "I don't know which clan this is. Each clan has a different marker so that other Elves will know what clan controls the area, but I never paid much attention to what each marker looked like. I wasn't exactly allowed to patrol our border," She admitted.

Leliana seemed a bit confused by that admission. "Why ever not? You are a fine fighter."

A wry smile danced across her lips. "Before I left, I would have shot any shemlen on sight in the name of protecting the clan, despite what Keeper Marethari wanted," she replied, gaining a slight amount of morbid satisfaction as the tension in Leliana's shoulders jumped a notch. "These elves will have their own experiences and their own opinions about humans, and they will not know me; they may loose their arrows without a second thought, they may not."

"May?" Alistair nearly choked. "The Dalish aren't one big crazy happy loving family?"

"Within our own clans, yes; even between a single clan and another, but not all clans are peaceful with each other."

"Why not?" Leliana enquired.

Lyna shot the other woman an incredulous look. "Because of the only thing that matters to us, of course; our history." The statement seemed to make little impression on the group and so Lyna sighed in slight irritation as she began to explain. "What history we Dalish have is discovered by individuals in far flung clans, each of whom has their own opinions about what we once were and what our future should hold. Those opinions are strong, and we don't always agree. One or two of the clans are in such disagreement with the rest that they come to blows during the Arlath'vhen—the gathering of the clans."

"And this clan…" Alistair hedged. "They are one of the friendly ones, right?"

Lyna shrugged. "As I said, I do not recognize the mark. It will be impossible for me to say until we get there."

"And are they all as skilled in battle as you?" Leliana asked.

Lyna nodded in the affirmative, a bit of arrogance coming to the surface as she said, "Dalish hunters are second to none."

"Right," Alistair proclaimed, mentally preparing himself for an extremely strenuous confrontation. "Do we know how much further it is to the camp?"

"They could be watching us now," Lyna replied.

Alistair's eyes began darting around to the trees and bushes surrounding them. After accompanying Lyna on her hunt yesterday he had a better idea of Dalish camouflage techniques, but he was nowhere near able to actually detect others watching him. Lyna sometimes had a difficulty tracking some of the hunters in her own clan when they were out on a hunt. "Well I just feel all sorts of reassured now…"

"Don't worry," Lyna said, smiling as she winked conspiratorially. "If they shoot you, I'll remove the arrow for you."

"Brilliant," Alistair dead panned.

Lyna immediately turned to the group, conscious of the dozen or so eyes that could be hiding in the brush at that very moment. It was imperative that they come up with a way to secure a safe approach. Hiding human features would be easy enough, even if Alistair was a little tall and a little broad in the shoulders to pass for an elf—but Sten and Fen'Harel would give them away without a moment's hesitation. "I suggest that everyone put on their cloaks and pull up their hoods," she said without explanation and then turned her attention to Sten. Hiding him under a cloak would convince no one, and for a moment she was at a loss. No hunter would believe the suggestion of a seven foot elf; she might as well announce their ruse right then and there. She could tie up the dog and have Alistair carry him; the added weight would force his body into a crouch and the cloak would hide the bent posture, hopefully giving the illusion of a shorter man, but what to do with the Qunari? The dog would allow her to tie him up, he was loyal to her and trusted her implicitly, though she didn't understand it at all…she wondered if Sten would allow her to do the same…if she couldn't hide the giant, maybe she could get away with pretending he was a captive. "I am sorry," she said to Sten finally, "But in order to pull off what I have in mind, I will need to bind your wrists." Sten glowered at her, as if the implication of a Kosith warrior being captured by elves was beyond shameful. For a tense moment, Lyna wondered if he would oppose her, but without a word he thrust his wrists forward in consent. She nodded, accepting his permission and pulled her pack off her back to fish out her ropes.

She bound him quickly, but before she could take one step towards the dog she caught Sten raising an eyebrow. Turning back towards him, she mirrored the expression in askance of his concern.

"The ropes are too loose Basra," he informed her, the tone in his voice making it clear that he was unimpressed. "This will convince no one."

"I had thought to spare you the indignity of feeling like a captive," Lyna said.

"You could not imprison me if I did not wish it," he replied curtly. "Tie them tighter." That being said, Lyna shrugged and did as he said before moving on to Fen, who whined in confusion, but didn't challenge her when she pushed him down the ground, hogtied his legs and signaled Alistair to carry him.

The rest did as they were told and pulled on their cloaks; even Morrigan pulled the hood of her garment low over her eyes without a single word in challenge, though she scowled mightily at the idea of having to hide.

The deception seemed to work. They stepped over the boundary and within fifteen minutes, Lyna could feel eyes following them. She and Morrigan remained out in front, Sten being lead by a rope directly behind her, Leliana bringing up the rear next to Alistair who carried Fen draped across his shoulders.

To anyone who didn't look too closely, it would look as if a band of Dalish hunters were transporting a Kosith captive and his war hound. The problem with that, however, was that these hunters were looking very, very closely. If they got within ten feet of them before they reached the Dalish camp, they would easily discover the truth. She deeply hoped this clan was not one of the more aggressive clans. Friendly, and they would simply watch the approach incase her prisoner became violent; unfriendly and they would soon be within striking range, trying to identify the clan markings in their Vallaslin and whether they made them friend or foe.

Lyna couldn't for the life of her think of anyone in the wider Dalish diaspora that her clan had poor relations with, but fact was she was not Keeper, the Keeper's First or one of the Hahren. She had never been to the Arlath'vhen and she had no idea who quarreled with whom. Her only play was to reach the camp without confrontation and present the Grey Warden treaties.

They continued along the Brecilian Passage, skirting a fine line between their display of confidence and the necessity for caution. If they appeared nervous it would raise suspicion, but if they threw caution to the wind, they could find themselves surrounded and caught off guard.

The remaining hour to the Dalish camp was mercilessly uneventful. They were not approach until they reach the entrance to the camp, the hunters standing in the arch leading to the aravels approaching with an easy and comfortable gate. Whoever had watched their approach and sent a scout ahead to inform the hunters in camp of a friendly approach. Lyna breathed a deep sigh of relief and smiled as she extended a hand to the huntress approaching her.

"Anderan Atish'an, Sister. I am Lyna of the Sabrae Clan," Lyna introduced herself, clasping arms with the other woman.

"Andaran Atish'an, my friend. My name is Mithra. You have come a long way, I give you the welcome of our clan," Mithra responded. Releasing Lyna's arm, she glanced behind her at the motley crew of hooded figures and raised an satirical eyebrow. "These are curious companions you have."

"I apologize for the ruse, but we were unsure which clan it was that we approached, and my clan's first has told me that some of the other clans can be quite hostile. I am the only elf amongst us and I did not wish the rest dead before we laid eyes on your camp," Lyna explained, signaling for the rest to drop their disguises.

Mithra's expression darkened a little as she laid eyes on Alistair, Leliana and Morrigan. "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"We have come on behalf of the Grey Wardens," Lyna quickly supplied, trying to get ahead of the storm clouds in the huntress's eyes.

For her part, Mithra immediately lost all interest in Lyna's traveling companions. "The Grey Wardens? You…have joined their ranks? How unusual…" She said, trailing off as she looked over the entire party with new understanding and…was that…hope? Lyna wasn't sure what to think of the other woman's reaction. They were close enough to the Blight that their keeper would have sensed its corruption already, and it was possible that they had heard the story Loghain was spreading that all the Grey Wardens had perished at Ostagar…maybe that's all it was; hope against the Blight. Still, the thought stuck in her head as Mithra continued. "Please, excuse my surprise. I will take you to the keeper right away."

Lyna felt what was possibly her first real smile since leaving her clan spread bright and wide across her face as she looked back to the rest of her party and nodded, signaling them to follow her in to the camp. She was back amongst the Elvhen, and the joy that took her heart nearly burst from her chest.

The joy was short lived.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Apologies, but the next couple of chapters will be game dialogue. I wouldn't write it if I didn't think it wasn't important to the overall story. :-/ I will do my best to spice it up a bit. For instance, I have decided that Merrill came from Zathrian's clan before she was sent to be Marethari's first, since that history was never given and Lanaya speaks of having to work harder than the other candidates because of her childhood as a city elf. Also I think it explains why Merrill seems like such a goody two shoes in Origins and so petulant in DA2.

* * *

Alistair rolled his achy shoulders once he managed to lower Fen to the ground and untie the ropes binding his legs. For half an instant, he almost wished he was Kosith so that he could have been the ones with bound wrists being led about the forest on a leash, instead of carrying Lyna's mutt like some pack mule. But on second thought he had no interest in the rigid teachings of the Qun, and Kosith men were really gruesome looking. It wasn't that he particularly thought of himself as pretty, he just didn't entertain thoughts about his looks too often. A pretty face got you absolutely nowhere when you were off killing darkspawn. Still…if he were Kosith, he might think about it a bit more often.

Having worked most of the ache out of his shoulders, he weaved his way around the others until he was walking only a pace behind Lyna, able to actually hear what the elf leading them in to the camp was saying. Mithra seemed friendly enough, though that dangerous look she had given him earlier had nearly chilled his soul, but after a moment of eves dropping he found himself unable to concentrate on what was being said. There was the half-the-words-they're-using-make-no-sense thing, but there was also the fact that the sight of the camp was more than enough to distract him from the incomprehensible chit chat between Mithra and Lyna. He couldn't think of having ever seen anything more peculiar and foreign. The first thing he noticed was the oddly savage lanterns that dotted their path into the camp. They hung from the trunks of saplings that had been stripped of their branches and leaves, their tips bent over and tethered to their own bases with a rope. That same rope held the lanterns themselves to their lamp posts, the lanterns appearing to be some sort of luminous liquid in a large un-stoppered vial, suspended in the air by four slender ironbark branches, crafted in to the most intriguingly wild swirls and curves he could imagine. Beyond the lanterns he noticed the landships, or aravels as Lyna called them. They were scattered all over the camp and much bigger in person than he had ever expected. At the same time, for as many as there were, he found it hard to believe that all these elves managed to sleep in so few landships. That led him to wonder if they slept in them at all, they were certainly big enough to house two or three and possibly four elves if two of them were children, but the whole clan? And did that mean they just left all their food and supplies out in the open where animals and thieves could sneak in and take it in the middle of the night? There were chests and barrels and sacks littering the forest floor within the camp…but that seemed highly impractical.

Thinking more on it, he remembered that Lyna almost always slept out in the open air, only allowing herself a well-oiled canvas to cover her bedroll it if rained. Somewhere between Ostagar and Lothering, when Alistair had emerged from his grief coma for a few moments, he had asked her about it and she had curtly informed him that the only use a tent had was for privacy, and the forest provided her all the privacy she needed. Maybe it was the other way around; the elves locked up the food in the landships at night and slept outside. After all, no bandit in his right mind would risk tripping over a sleeping hunter just to rob a landship that might not have anything of value in it anyway.

His musings were further encouraged by the way the aravels looked; every bit like a seaworthy vessel, propped up on two axels with a mast and sails and everything—it was no wonder that the humans called them landships. He wondered for a moment if the Dalish actually used their landships to sail over the seas of Thedas…

Unsure where to go with that riddle beyond filing it away to ask Lyna later, he forced himself to take in the other oddities of the area, such as the statues of a wolf standing at the very edges of the outcropping with their backs turned to the camp, and further within the statues of the elven gods. Down the hill, he could see where the halla roamed near a headless, handless statue of a woman he suspected of being Ghilan'nain, based solely and entirely upon its proximity to the halla herd. Near the center of the camp, poking up from the ridge above the halla herd, were the remnants of an old ruined building, its arches barely standing after centuries of withstanding the elements. And there, smack dab in the middle of everything a large bonfire burned away, surrounded on all sides by benches that looked like little more than tree trunks that had been split down the middle.

Strange as it all should have seemed, Alistair found himself drawn to the wild transience of the scene, maybe even somewhat intoxicated by the exoticness of the scene.

And then there was Lyna, suddenly no longer looking like the perplexed outsider, but completely comfortable and at ease in the environment she had known for as long as she could remember. Alistair's wandering mind settled on the petite woman he had spent the last month traveling with and suddenly could not be bothered to think about anything else. It was as if she had become an entirely different person in the space of a couple heart beats. Where she constantly maintained a rigid and threatening stance and glared daggers and spat venom at any human who so much as looked at her wrong, now she swaggered with confidence and let her hips sway while she walked and chatted amicably with the elven scouts that lead their procession. It was quite…enticing, he realized and he wondered for a second if she did it on purpose, or if this is what Lyna was like when she let her defenses down. He laughed a little to himself when he realized that, had he been a Dalish elf in her clan, he would have been completely helpless to her charms. He could even imagine himself following her around like a smitten little puppy dog, desperate to fulfill her every wish.

Of course that was foolish. He wasn't Dalish and she would probably always see him as just another shem, even in the best of times, only worthy of castigation for disrespecting her beliefs in some way or another. His amusement didn't fade, but it did dull as he sighed in exhaustion at the memory of the many, many things they butted heads over. It was foolish, indeed.

Lyna's posture suddenly straightened, the swaying hips disappeared, and he saw her bow her head with a sort of reverence she showed to no one to a slightly taller elf with no hair. The other elves did the same and Alistair realized he was likely the clan's leader. He felt like he should bow too, but felt a little silly doing so, not sure of what was expected of him as a human in a Dalish camp. He glanced at Morrigan, and decided not to bow when she didn't do so…but then Morrigan was self-important enough that she probably wouldn't bow to anyone, even to the Divine. Did apostates ever bow to the Divine? He really didn't know.

"Hmmm. I see we have a guest…and one of our own, no less," the clan's leader said more to himself than to anyone, but Mithra apparently noticed some sort of social cue that he didn't and quickly introduced Lyna.

"This one is from one of our sister clans to the North, Keeper, but claims to have come on behalf of the Grey Wardens," she said, acknowledging the rest of the group.

"The Grey Wardens?" That seemed to pique the man's—the Keeper's—interest. "How unusual that one of our own would join their ranks. How did such a thing occur?"

Lyna's response was respectful enough, but Alistair could hear the lingering resentment and sadness in her tone as she responded. "I had little choice in the matter."

"Oh? I find it difficult to believe," The Keeper replied. "Being asked to join the Grey Wardens is a great honor, and I cannot think of an instance in which one of the people has been asked since Garahel defeated Andoral in the fourth Blight."

"I was not asked to join because they see anything of our great ancestor in me, Keeper. I was conscripted…for my health," she replied, almost bitterly.

The keeper watched her for a moment, weighing something in his head. "Perhaps another time you could relate your tale to me," He finally responded before turning back to Mithra. "Ma serannas, Mithra. You may return to your post."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper," she replied before bowing her head again and then waving the other scouts away with her when she turned away.

When Mithra was out of ear shot, Zathrian returned his attention to Lyna. "Now, perhaps we might introduce ourselves. I am Zathrian, Keeper and Hahren of this clan. You are?"

Lyna bowed her head again. "I am Lyna of the Sabrae Clan, I am honored to meet you."

"The honor is mine," Zathrian responded as he returned the bow. "I think Keeper Marethari may have spoken of you at the last Arlathvhen. It was years ago, but she said you had the potential to become a great hunter. She could only have been correct if you are now counted among the Grey Wardens…tell me, how does she fare?"

"Keeper Marethari was well when last I saw her; though I fear that she has her hands full with our First," Lyna replied, her reverent expression never faltering.

"I am not surprised," Zathrian smiled knowingly. "Merrill may be a quiet girl, but she was always head strong, and our clans are not always in agreement on questions of History." Now Lyna smiled and nodded her agreement, though it seemed to be a point of vague amusement than of any real contention. "I know Marethari long held out hope that you would develop the gift for magic, considering your parentage, but I am glad Merrill has found a home."

"Yes, I fear Merrill has always resented me a little for that…" Lyna replied with a wry smile.

Alistair was suddenly full of questions. There were mages in Lyna's family? He had read somewhere during his Templar studies that the Dalish harbored mages, but it had been a single line of text on a single page in a very large and boring book, and Alistair had never been a very good student…especially when it came to being a Templar. Still, he was suddenly aware of how little he actually knew about her as a person. She had begun teaching him her people's stories, but she had never actually told him anything about herself. All he knew is that she had a quick temper and that she had lost someone important to her and that Duncan had carried her away before he could be found. He wasn't sure if anything else had been said on the point of Lyna's parents or this First they spoke of, Merrill, or what Lyna's lack of magical ability had to do with her, but when Zathrian brought up the Blight Alistair's thoughts returned to the present.

"If you came to bring news of the blight in the south, I must inform you that while the thought is appreciated, your visit was not needed. I had already sensed its corruption. I would have taken the clan north by now, had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see, we do not." When Zathrian waved to the ground behind him, Alistair noticed the many cots full of elves; men women and children and writhing, moaning and even crying out in agony.

"Yes, it seems you have had your own troubles," Lyna replied, deep concern etching her voice and her features. It was odd to see her concerned for others when she had barely given the refugees of Lothering a haughty sniff.

Alistair himself was not surprised to see someone else in dire straits after the massacre at Ostagar and then the people of Lothering simply abandoned by their liege. "What are the odds?" he scoffed, though it was louder than intended and earned him a chastising glance from Lyna as she looked back over her shoulder, and an elbow in the ribs from Leliana. Morrigan simply rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Do not allow our troubles to burden you, though I suspect they may impact your mission," Zathrian replied to Lyna, though he directed a rather cold look towards Alistair. "I imagine you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago. Unfortunately, we may not be able to live up to the promise we made. This will require some…explanation. Please follow me," he said as he turned away and walked towards one of the sick and knelt beside their cot. "The clan came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us…" He sighed in anguish, regret written across his face, most likely from not having anticipated the attack, Alistair suspected. Obviously the man couldn't have prevented it, but Alistair could understand still feeling responsible for the bad things that happened to those you love. Alistair himself constantly wondered if he could have saved Duncan from his fate. After a moment, Zathrian arose and turned to lead them a small ways away. "They ambushed us," Zathrian explained in a hushed voice. "And though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors are dying as we speak. Even with all our magic and healing skill, we will eventually be forced to slay our brethren to prevent them from becoming beasts," Alistair watched an even deeper torment wash over the man's face before he finally continued. "The Blight's evil must be stopped, but we are in no position to uphold our obligations. I am truly sorry."

There was a long silence and Alistair felt himself despair a little. They were counting on the Dalish to fight the blight. What would it mean if they couldn't? Would Arl Eamon's forces, the dwarves and the Circle of Magi be enough? The path ahead of them would be difficult enough without losing their allies. And especially to something like werewolves…"Wait, there are actual werewolves in the forest?" Alistair blurted, barely pausing between thoughts.

Zathrian gave him another one of his cold looks. Apparently Alistiar's usual tactlessness was just as popular with Lyna's people as it was with Lyna herself. Even so, the Keeper nodded. "Yes. There was a time in Ferelden's history when werebeasts roamed the lands in great numbers. Spirits possessed animals and turned them in to horrific monsters, but the humans warred against and destroyed these creatures. No doubt their tales of those days grow ever more inaccurate with every passing year."

"Forgive me Keeper, but I myself always assumed that the werewolves of the Brecilian Forest were simply legend," Lyna said, as if defending the intent of Alistair's question, though her eyes never left the wounded hunters lying just a few yards away. "My clan has camped in the forest since before any of us can remember, and we have never encountered such creatures."

"Flemeth tells tales of such a time," Morrigan replied, despite not having been asked. Was it any surprise that her abomination of a mother knew something about real live werewolves? "Packs of possessed wolves, akin to abominations, roaming the land. It was a terrible age, but…" she paused, confusion replacing her somberness "That time is now long past."

Zathrian shook his head, though his behavior towards Morrigan was much more respectful than it had been towards Alistair. "No, the werebeasts are not all gone from this land, and the ones that stalk the Brecilian Forest are proof of that."

"Why did these beasts attack your people?" Morrigan asked.

"They are savage and unrelenting; they need no reason to attack anyone," Zathrian bit out as something dark crossed his eyes, but in a second it was gone. That was odd, Alistair thought. "What is curious, however, is the ambush," Zathrian continued. "We expect werewolves to be no more cunning than rabid wolves. The ambush suggests a level of intelligence we've never seen before…"

"Perhaps they aren't as unintelligent as you think," she argued, seeming a little offended having spent time as an animal herself.

"I doubt that," Zathrian almost scoffed. "The very curse that is in their blood fills them with an unreasoning rage that precludes any true thought," he informed Morrigan, as if that should explain everything. Alistair was lost, but it seemed like a reasonable explanation to Morrigan. He chalked it up to not having any true understanding of how magic worked, only that it did.

Lyna, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about why the werewolves had attacked, only that they had, and that her people lay a short distance from their feet, dying. In fact, it was as if she hadn't been paying attention to that part of the conversation at all. "Is there no way to help the clan?"

Zathrian turned his attention back to her and sighed heavily. "The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death, or transformation into something monstrous. The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, no trivial task to retrieve."

"You speak of a werewolf," Morrigan attempted to clarify.

"No, but it is the one that made these werewolves," Zathrian explained to all of them. "Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf—we call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread." At that point, he turned his full attention back to Lyna. "If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us. I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not yet returned. I cannot risk anymore of my clan."

"You said 'perhaps…'" Morrigan prompted.

"There is no guarantee that this will work as I suspect, but it is the only hope we have left," He replied to Morrigan before turning back to Lyna and laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry yourself with our troubles. With a Blight upon the land, you have enough else to concern yourself with. Please, we would be greatly honored if you would stay in our camp and share our meal with us tonight. In the morning you can be on your way, completely refreshed."

Lyna didn't respond, her thoughts clearly focused solely on the cursed hunters. Alistair may not know much about Lyna, but he knew her well enough to know that she cared deeply about her people, and if she was willing to take the time to patch up an injured halla, it was nearly certain she would want to try and help these elves, but like Zathrian said, they had their own concerns and a horde of darkspawn coming their way. She was sensible and she would see this for herself without any help from him, but he hated to play a part in making her turn her back on her people…they simply didn't have the time, and now they were down an ally as well.

Alistair turned to the Keeper and this time he did bow. "Thank you keeper, we are grateful for your hospitality. We won't impose any longer than is necessary." Zathrian nodded his thanks and left to return to the side of his hunters to try and ease their pain.

Preparing himself for the inevitable bristles, he walked up beside Lyna as she watched Zathrian care for one of his men. Pain laced her features, and for a moment Alistair thought she might cry. It was then that he realized what she must be thinking about, why she had said so little once they had been shown the extent of the damage and informed s to the hunter's inevitable fate. She saw her lost clansman in every cot, writhing in pain from the taint. They had come to the Dalish first, hoping to soothe Lyna's emotional aches and pains, but the scene before them appeared to be ripping her old wounds back open again.

"There is nothing we can do for them, Lyna," Alistair soothed, grasping her shoulder comfortingly with his hand.

"I know that!" She snapped before biting off the rest of whatever poison she might still wish to spit. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and lowered her head as she slowly exhaled. "There never is…" With that she turned away from him and headed towards the fire in the middle of the camp.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Apologies again for the exceptionally late chapter! I figure this deserves a full explanation since I have gone so long between the last couple of updates. I recently picked up a second job and so I am more or less working every moment I am awake now. Hopefully one of these jobs starts paying me decently enough that I can quit the other, but until that time I am probably going to be updating less frequently than you or I would like. All the same, I will do my best to continue updating this as often as I can.

Again, this is going to be a game dialogue heavy chapter, although I personally have never stopped to talk to Sarel until the most recent play through, so hopefully that bit is fresh for most of you.

* * *

She was miserable. Everywhere she looked, she saw Tamlen's face as he fought in agony against the taint. He fought to stay alive even as he fought to keep from becoming a monster. She tried every focusing technique she could think of to block out the thoughts, but it was no use. The parallels between what these hunters suffered and what she had suffered at the mercy of the taint…what Tamlen had suffered…the parallels were too many. For a moment, she had been so happy. They had arrived at the edge of camp and she had seen the scouts and clasped hands with Mithra and it felt like coming home, even though it wasn't her clan. She and the scouts had chatted happily for about a hundred paces, she had even smiled a real smile and felt the joy of real laughter…and then she had seen Keeper Zathrian in the flesh; the man that every one of the Elvhen hoped to be someday. It was like walking in the presence of one of the creators, or an elder from the days of Arlathan, reawakened from their uthenara to bring back the wisdom of the ages. She doubted anyone had noticed when she stopped dead in her tracks and stared like a child with no tact; it was only a split second before she regained her composure, and it seemed that everyone—well, everyone besides Sten—was in their own sort of trance just taking in the Dalish way of life. Then Zathrian had shown them his dying men…and so she was miserable.

What made her misery worse was the fact that even when faced with a dozen dying hunters, all she could think about was her own loss. What kind of person was she that she could look at these men and woman as they suffered and only feel her own suffering? Was she really that selfish? She certainly hoped not, but the evidence was stacking up to the contrary. And then she had brushed off Alistair's attempt to comfort her as if it were garbage…or worse. She really was a fine example of Dalish strength and tenacity. She was suddenly glad that Tamlen couldn't see her like this, wasting away in the misery of what once was and what might have been.

That thought was what finally stopped her mid stride. Tamlen's ghost sent her an empathizing look from the cot it occupied, as if to tell her he would be the same without her, but instead said to her, _Fight for them Emma'Lath. Fight for our people's future. _She had told Alistair back in Lothering that she might not have been able to save Tamlen, but she would live the best life she could in order to honor him. She was ashamed to find that it had been an empty platitude, born by the luxury of not yet having to face her demons. Now they stared her in the face and her choices were clear; either waste away with regret or fight. Tamlen's ghost told her to fight.

She whirled around and marched back to Zathrian where he spoke in hushed tones to one of the clan healers, her shoulders squared and determination seeping through every pound of flesh. "I will find this Witherfang for you," She announced.

Zathrian, cut off mid-sentence, stared at her with great incredulity. "I must warn you…" he paused, glancing between her and Alistair, who looked an odd cross between shocked and resigned. "More fearsome creatures than werewolves lurk in the Brecilian Forest."

"I do not care," she proclaimed. "How do I find him?"

Zathrian didn't answer for the longest time, watching her with a calculating stare worthy of Morrigan…or possibly even Asha'Belannar. Finally, he said, "Watch for the white wolves, they are his eyes and ears in the forest."

Lyna nodded. "I will need equipment."

"Then you should speak to Master Varathorn. By the _vir sulevanan_, you are entitled to any property of the Dalish," Zathrian replied as he nodded towards the craftsman's aravel. Lyna nodded again and then turned on her heal to leave.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and Lyna stopped to glare her disapproval at whoever tried to stop her. Morrigan's cautious expression halted her progress. "Perhaps we should learn more about this curse before we attempt to break it…" Lyna didn't particularly appreciate the delay, but again…she knew little of magic. She nodded her agreement, turning back to face the Keeper.

Morrigan's focus zeroed in on the elven mage, but Zathrian was less inclined to be sidelined. "If you have questions, make them quick," he demanded, losing his calm and concerned demeanor a bit in the face of further delay. "I have much to do here and my first or the clan's storyteller can provide you with answers just as easily."

Morrigan seemed to take some offense to the tone the man had adopted and slouched a little as she raised one eyebrow in a show of disrespect. "Tell us about this curse your hunters suffer from, Keeper?"

Zathrian shrugged. "There is not much to say, it stemmed originally from Witherfang, but now any werewolf may infect someone with it."

Morrigan waved her hand in dismissal, clearly unimpressed with the explanation. "You have already said as much, I am asking how it started."

Zathrian gave her the same calculating stare he had pinned Lyna with earlier, although it was now laced with suspicion. Finally, he closed his eyes, lowered his head and raised a hand to rub his temple as he sighed loudly. "That is a long tale, and I do not have the time to tell it," He replied. "Ask Lanaya or Sarel if you wish to know more."

Lyna's eyes lingered on the exchange for a moment, trying to understand the subtext of the conversation. Lyna was acutely aware of her people's tendency towards keeping secrets, and especially from shemlen, but what did Zathrian have to lose by telling Morrigan something that might help them save his people? But then…Marethari never told the clan everything. More often than once Lyna had heard something she wasn't supposed to via Tamlen via Merrill who seemed to be easily charmed by the blond elf. Who could blame her really? And who was Lyna to question a Keeper, and especially one of Zathrian's age and stature in the Dalish diaspora? He was practically revered as a living god, even among the other Keepers. The man had rediscovered the immortality of their ancestors; he must be doing something right. Lyna abruptly squelched her thoughts as Zathrian's attention reverted to her and he dismissed the witch. Lyna quickly plastered on a smile that felt exceptionally guilty and nodded her thanks before taking hold of Morrigan's arms, possibly a touch roughly, and leading her away from the encounter. She couldn't believe she had been caught staring!

After a dozen or so paces Morrigan yanked her arm back, clearly not enjoying being lead like a child. She huffed as she adjusted her robes in an effort to regain her usual solemnity Lyna's rough actions had destroyed, but she still seemed half distracted as her eyes remained glued to Zathrian's back. "What is it?" Lyna asked, confused by the other woman's evident suspicion.

"I do not like this Keeper of yours," Morrigan replied, not a thought spared for tact.

Were Morrigan some faceless shemlen, Lyna might have jumped to the Keeper's defense without a thought—potentially even inflicted bodily harm on the offending person, considering exactly which Keeper was in question—but in the short time that the two women had known each other Lyna had learned that while Morrigan could be as cold and heartless as a winter wind, and as calculating as the dread wolf, she was also highly perceptive and it was wise to worry if she said there was reason to do so. And though she might deny it to the ends of the earth, Lyna had to admit that she had her own reservations. But Keeper Zathrian would have good reasons for his evasion...he must. "Explain," She commanded. "And do so quickly."

Morrigan's eyes now leveled on Lyna, shocked and a bit disgusted that she needed to explain the obvious to someone who was usually so sensible. "Do you not see how he avoids answering questions about this curse?" Morrigan nearly shrieked in disbelief, though she did her best to keep her voice low. "He comprehends this curse more than he pretends!"

Lyna turned her attention from her friend, stubbornly thrusting her chin in to the air. "Keeper Zathrian pretends nothing," she denied. "As he said, he's a busy man and there are others who can answer your questions." Across the encampment, Lyna spotted the storyteller sitting at a fire with a handful of hunter apprentices. With renewed vigor, she took off in Sarel's direction.

Morrigan practically choked behind her. "I beg your pardon, Warden?" When no response was forthcoming, Morrigan sacrificed a fraction of her solemnity to run past the elf and do an about face to stop dead in Lyna's path. Lyna pulled up short, less than an arm's span from crashing in to the other woman. "You heard the same words come out of that man as I," Morrigan accused. "How is it that suddenly you do not see that he is hiding something? What if the thing he is keeping from us is in fact vital to this quest you have committed us to?"

Lyna clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "The keeper is the leader of the clan and is solely charged with its protection and proliferation. Keeper Zathrian is the pinnacle of Elvhen achievement since the fall of Arlathan. If he is keeping something from us, he has a good reason for doing so, and will _not_ be questioned."

The women stared each other down, seconds ticking by in a contest of wills. When Lyna refused to back down, Morrigan's expression chilled as she grimaced in disgust and disappointment. "As you wish, Warden," she said, barely managing to get the words past her pride. Lyna didn't move and continued to glare as she waited for Morrigan to step out of her way, refusing to cede any ground. Finally, Morrigan gave in and stepped to the side, though she didn't turn to watch as Lyna continued her journey towards the campfire and the storyteller.

She was identified long before they reached the circle of benches surrounding the flames, and it was Hahren Sarel who greeted them. "_Andaran atish'an Lethallan_! Would you come and share a meal with us?" he called. The man was taller than she, with shoulder length brown hair and Andruil's vallaslin etched in to his face.

"I would be honored, thank you," Lyna replied as she forced a grateful smile across her face and banished her argument with Morrigan from her mind, or rather tried to.

"Come then and sit. Join us by the fire," Sarel replied as he waved his hand at the empty bench beside the one he occupied. "I am Hahren Sarel, the clan's storyteller. You have one in your own clan, I presume?"

"Yes," Lyna nodded. "Hahren Paivel."

"Ah, so Hahren Paivel still lives?" Sarel asked, his features lighting up with happiness. "That is good, for he was old when I was but_ da'len_. How lucky you are to have been reared with his tales." Sarel then looked to Morrigan and the others further behind her, his tone becoming suddenly wary. "I notice you are not alone. These companions of yours, are they Grey Wardens as well?"

Morrigan's jaw nearly hit the ground as she screeched, "A Grey Warden? I? Bite your tongue, Storyteller!" Lyna could imagine the irritated look Alistair would be giving her, though she didn't turn around to confirm it with her own eyes.

As if on cue, another voice interjected itself into the conversation. "_I_ am a Grey Warden," Alistair called as he surpassed Morrigan, shooting her an indignant glare on his way to catch Lyna up. "Pleased to meet you," he said more pleasantly, extending a hand to Sarel.

"Andaran Atish'an," Sarel said a touch too formally before turning and directing a skeptical look towards Lyna, though he continued to address Alistair. "I must say, I find it odd that any of your kind would readily follow one of the Dalish," he mused as he continued to clasp hands with Alistair. There was tension in their wrists as they did so, and Lyna quickly realized the hand shake had suddenly turned confrontational.

Sarel's eyes narrowed as he continued to grip Alistair's hand. "Tell me, Lethallan…" he continued, his words now directed at her though he never broke eye contact with Alistair. "Do you suppose you have been made a Grey Warden simply to get our assistance? Maybe they think we would not live up to the treaty otherwise."

"I assure you, that is _not_ the case," Alistair assured him forcefully.

Lyna shook her head and waved Alistair off as she verbally inserted herself between the two men. "That is not something Alistair could speak to," she replied. "He is as new to the Grey Wardens as I, and the one who could answer your question is…no longer with us," she finished lamely as she shot an apologetic look to Alistair for bringing up Duncan. Changing the subject, she returned her attention to Sarel as she continued, "Besides, you cannot live up to the treaty as it is."

Almost without warning, Sarel launched himself off the bench, righteous fury turned on both Alistair and Lyna. "They had no way of knowing that! For all we know, you could have—"

"Please Hahren Sarel, you are being most unkind. The Warden is not only our guest, but she is also one of the people," one of the hunter apprentices interrupted gently, attempting to calm them man.

"It is alright," Lyna replied quickly, shaking her head. "Were I in Hahren Sarel's shoes, I would be far more suspicious and far less kind." Her cheeks colored a bit as she remembered her rather outlandish behavior when Duncan had first suggested she leave her clan to join him.

No one spoke for a moment before Sarel exhaled heavily before running a hand through his long hair. "No…" he said. "No, I apologize for my rudeness." He shook his head and looked around the camp, his eyes lingering painfully on the sick and dying. "Our losses have been great and I am…not myself." Tears came to his eyes as he spoke the last.

"The Hahren's own wife has perished from the werewolf's curse," one of the apprentices offered, leaning over to rest a comforting hand on the Hahren's shoulder. "We are mourning her death and the many more to come."

Lyna nodded her understanding and acceptance of the apology as she cast her eyes to the ground in respect. "I am sorry for your loss, Hahren," she said quietly.

"Ma serannas," Sarel replied, mirroring her tone. "Better her suffering be ended now then for her to have become a…a beast." Sarel then paused a moment to scrub the tears from his eyes before trying to continue. "These have not been easy days for us, and the idea that we may yet have to abandon our ill to their fate…" he nearly choked again on the last words, but instead took a deep albeit shaky breath before continuing. "But let us not dwell on our problems. Is there something I can do to be of assistance?"

"There…is, actually," Alistair said awkwardly, unsure of whether or not his input would go over well with the elder who had thus far only been confrontational with him. "We plan to find Witherfang and lift the curse on your hunters, but…we have questions regarding the curse itself. The keeper has given us use of the clan's supplies, but did not have time to speak with us further. What can you tell us about the werewolves?"

"The Keeper gave you nothing, Outsider," Sarel informed him curtly. "The Keeper of our clan has granted our sister Dalish what she needs by vir sulevanan, the entitlement of the Dalish to a property of their people." Sarel stopped himself there, needing to calm down again. Lyna understood him very well, that grief was making him lash out and that Alistair was the obvious target; an outsider and a shemlen claiming the benefits from the rights of the people. When Sarel spoke his voice was gentle again. "I am…glad to hear that you have decided to stay and help us. As Keeper Zathrian undoubtedly told you, we cannot risk sending anymore of our people after Witherfang. As to the wolves…we know only what Zathrian has told us over the years. I never saw one myself until the attack."

Morrigan glanced sideways at Lyna in her peripheral vision as if to say _I told you so_. "But if they are as mindless as your keeper claims, how is it that they came to ambush you?" she asked.

Sarel didn't speak for a long time, his expression communicating that he had entertained the same thought many times. "Some of us have wondered…the keeper says they are simply cunning, that any beast can lie in wait…but this seemed more than that."

"This was planned," one of the apprentices snapped. "These are no simple beasts!"

Morrigan's eyes rooted themselves on Lyna but she refused to meet them. "Then the real question is why Zathrian would insist that it is not so," Morrigan continued.

Lyna clenched her jaw tightly. "This is preposterous," she finally barked. "What reason would Keeper Zathrian have for lying to us?"

"I do not believe that he has," Sarel replied, shaking his head in sorrow. "But even the wisest of men do not always see the truth in front of them…nor do they always wish to."

"Wait," Alistair piped up. "Why wouldn't he wish to?"

Sarel's expression darkened again as Alistair spoke, but this time he managed to maintain his composure. "Why would any man wish to understand the mind of a vicious beast? I cannot say I would desire to dive in to that blackness, to taste the bloodlust of such a monster…" The statement hung awkwardly in the air.

Of course the storyteller would never desire that. There wasn't a moment spent within reach of the archdemon's thrall that Lyna wished to be there. From Alistair's view, as horrible as it could feel sometimes, the connection to the horde was a brilliant concept; the darkspawn were perfectly in sync like some sort of horrible opera, and as Grey Wardens they could listen to the melody and yet be apart from the urges they instilled. That insight was invaluable on the battlefield as well as in the long term war, and the high cost was worth it if even one life was saved. From the point of view of anyone else it would seem more akin to dealing with demons; you might retain your mind and be in charge of your own actions for a time, but eventually the evil would win and you would become its slave. The most difficult part of the conundrum was that neither would be wrong.

Suddenly Lyna understood why the taint was kept a secret and why Duncan never explained to anyone why he knew that this Blight was a true Blight. It wasn't because the taint killed good men and women in their prime, it was because not even King Cailan would trust a man he believed could be under the archdemon's influence, whether that was now or ever.

Alistair moved to reply, but Lyna laid a hand on his arm to stay him. "It would be a terrible burden, to be sure," she replied evasively. Sarel nodded his agreement as Alistair stared at her, attempting to mask his disbelief. Maybe no one else noticed it, but to Lyna it was as obvious as day. "Hahren Sarel, please forgive me, but I must see to the supplies," she said as she stood, grasping at the first excuse to escape the circle of mourning. She was attempting to be proactive, rather than to sulk in her own grief, and she could feel the sorrow of the clan attempting to suck her back in. Focusing on preparations would distract her better than conversation.

Lyna nodded her thanks to Hahren Sarel and the apprentices that mourned with him as she stood and made for the master craftsman's aravel.

And then there were Sarel's words to consider. Could Keeper Zathrian be lying? Sarel said he didn't believe so, but doubts seemed to creep in to his voice even as he defended the leader of his clan. Lyna highly doubted it herself; a man as wise and old and knowledgeable as Keeper Zathrian would not keep something as trivial as the cunningness of an animal from a clan elder, and he would not keep vital information from the people attempting to restore his hunters…

No; whatever it was he was keeping to himself, it had to be kept secret for a reason. Sarel was simply grieving and sharing his irrational anguish wherever he could, and considering his loss, that was reasonable. She would not let the grief and suspicion of others cloud her judgment.


	15. Chapter 15

Morrigan watched the elf leave the campfire and suddenly found herself in…less than desirable company. Alistair continued to bumble through his attempt to converse with the suspicious Dalish story teller, earning him belabored explanations and piqued stares from the elder while the younger elves watched him in near outright hostility. It was actually quite amusing if one was able to block out the templar's chatter, and on any other day she might had even joined them in taunting him. Today she had other things on her mind.

It was a waste of time to help these elves, Morrigan thought, as they were utterly incapable of curing a simple little curse. If they could not fix their own problems, what use would they be against the archdemon? But for all her prickly layers Lyna was a kinder person than she. Morrigan supposed that if she grown up with a more emotionally demonstrative mother, it was certainly possible that she would feel the urge to help Flemeth in much the same way…But that was neither here nor there. From her eyes the elf seemed to have changed almost the moment they walked in to camp. Gone was the shrewd and practical leader, and in her place stood a noxious lamb who agreed to be lead about by the nose as if she had no mind of her own. It sickened Morrigan. Were Zathrian a human, his brushing off the curse would have set off countless alarms for Lyna, but because he was Elvhen and a leader of some repute within their society, Lyna seemed content to take his word at face value. It could not be abided. It was not that Morrigan was inherently suspicious of everyone—even though she was—but far more that she was being volunteered for this task without her own say and against her better judgment. She really felt she had a right to know what exactly it was they were about to walk in to. Magic could be extremely simple, but it could also be inexplicably complicated and no matter the level of intricacy, there was almost always a price to be paid in the end. As the resident mage, it was likely that price would fall on her head and Morrigan preferred that it not.

Lyna had already made it clear that Zathrian's honor was not to be examined, but Morrigan intended to get what information she could regardless. It would gain her no favor in the moment, but the Warden would thank her in the long run if the knowledge saved their lives and Lyna had not said that the keeper's apprentice was off limits…

Morrigan took her leave of Alistair and the elves without a word and headed towards Lyna. She did not wish another confrontation, but she would also not risk being sent away by approaching the clan's First without permission. There was too much at stake. She found the Warden crouched down near one of the landships, rifling through the contents of a sack. "Tis not wise for us to venture into the woods with our eyes closed," Morrigan warned as she came to a stop a few feet behind Lyna.

Lyna's shoulders tensed as she stilled. "We aren't, I am well aware of the dangers of the Brecilian Forest."

"I do not speak of the forest, and you know this," Morrigan said, unwilling to let the elf avoid the subject. "What has your keeper told us about this curse other than that it originated from Witherfang and that it causes great rage and madness?"

"What more do you wish to know, Morrigan!?" Lyna nearly cried as she whirled around to face her. "Zathrian knows many things, but is it so difficult for you to believe he knows only what he is telling us?"

"It is, actually," Morrigan replied, matching her tone. "He did not say he knew nothing else when I asked him how this curse came to be. He said he didn't have the time to tell me. In addition, I feel the need to point out to you that while Zathrian told us that he expects werewolves to be no more cunning than rabid wolves, Sarel tells us that Zathrian's explanation to the clan was that the attack was simple cunning and that any animal can lie in wait…" To this Lyna had no response and Morrigan was unsure whether or not it needed further explanation. "Regardless of the truth of either statement, they are in direct conflict. Either the story teller misunderstands his keeper, or the keeper is being dishonest with us."

Lyna sighed heavily and let her eyes drop to the ground, and Morrigan sensed at least a partial victory on this subject. "I will not bother Keeper Zathrian again over a simple misunderstanding, but if you wish we can go speak with his First…"

"Tis all I ask," Morrigan replied calmly and waited for Lyna to take the lead. Lyna held her gaze a moment longer, as if waiting for further argument. When it failed to present itself she turned in the direction of a blond elf-mage a short ways off. Compared to Zathrian, the young woman appeared kind and patient, far more akin to Lyna's descriptions of Keeper Marethari than this Zathrian. If this woman knew anything at all, she would be far more forthcoming.

"Andaran Atish'an Lethallan," she said, addressing Lyna. "My name is Lanaya, I am Zathrian's First."

"Aneth ara, I am Lyna of the Sabrae Clan, and this is my companion Morrigan," the warden responded, bowing her head a moment in respect.

Lanaya nodded her head in greeting to Morrigan before turning back to Lyna. "Keeper Zathrian tells me your clan has moved on to the north, and that you have been made a Grey Warden." With that the blond elf broke in to a great smile, excitement sparking behind her eyes. "Allow me to congratulate you on stepping in to a world that few of our people ever dream of…the chance to walk in the footsteps of our great ancestor, Garahel…I wish I could do the same."

Lyna's jaw hung slack a little at the declaration, and it took her a moment to pull together thoughts enough to answer. "I apologize, but I cannot see why," she finally said.

Morrigan herself was confused by the sentiment. "I too cannot see the allure of becoming a Grey Warden, of all things…"

Lanaya's cheeks flushed a little, embarrassed at having to admit to some of her more childish fantasies. "I love my clan deeply, and parting from them would be very sad…I am uncertain I could leave, given the chance, but…the thought of adventuring in the wider world has an appeal that I cannot deny."

Morrigan laughed a little at that, now understanding. "One need not become a Grey Warden to accomplish that."

Lanaya shrugged, the rosiness not yet totally faded from her face. "Perhaps not, but tell me Lethallan," she inquired, pausing to regain the rest of her composure. "If you could have stayed with your clan and done none of it at all, would you have?"

Lyna didn't hesitate for a moment. "Yes, absolutely," she replied before abruptly stopping to consider her words just as she opened her mouth to speak further. It was an unusual moment of hesitation, given her previous responses to similar questions. "I…would undo a great many things, both before and after I was conscripted, but I find it increasingly difficult to say that my task is entirely objectionable."

"That is not the answer I would have expected," Lanaya mused. "You really are swept up in circumstances beyond your control then…"

Lyna nodded and squared her shoulders I determination, even if only to reassure herself of the following convictions. "I did not willingly leave my clan and the loss of my loved ones continues to be painful, but it brings me some peace knowing that I am still protecting them from afar. I am making the best of it."

Lanaya smiled and nodded her understanding. "Sometimes that is all we can do. But come," she rejoined. "it is clear that you have questions for me."

"Indeed," Morrigan replied, relieved for the cessation of idle chatter. "What can you tell us about your keeper?"

Lanaya adopted a confused expression. "Nothing you could not ask Zathrian himself," she replied. "He is the keeper of this clan, and has been so for a very long time." Now she turned to watch the older man as she spoke, her features softening in both admiration and what appeared to be affection. "He is a very good man, but he has lost much. The Dalish are everything to him and he would do anything to protect them.

"What has he lost?" Lyna asked, her voice more concerned for the old mage than for what the revelation might mean for their task.

"I…really shouldn't talk about that," Lanaya replied, glancing at Morrigan as if to say she wouldn't give voice to that information in front of an outsider. "That's something you should ask him about yourselves."

Lyna nodded, apparently accepting the explanation. Morrigan almost shrieked her frustration with the reaction. If she were a less reserved, she might have been flailing her arms about much like Alistair liked to do when he was upset. Instead she clenched her jaw and pressed ahead. "Can you tell us anything about how the werewolf's curse came to be?"

Lanaya paused and her eyes darted back and forth as if scanning an invisible text for an answer. At length she sighed and met Morrigan's eyes again, shaking her head. "Not much. Zathrian is far more knowledgeable than I on the matter…perhaps you should speak to him; it seems I am not able to be of much help."

"We have already done so," Morrigan almost snapped. "Your keeper informed us that he has more pressing concerns."

"Yes…" Lanaya sighed heavily, sadness overtaking her. "I am truly sorry if our hospitality has been lacking. I am afraid we are preoccupied tending to our wounded and mourning our lost."

"To what end!?" Morrigan cried. "Either we will break this curse, or your hunters will die or become werewolves themselves!" Morrigan stopped as she felt Lyna's hand clamp down on her arm, a clear warning to control herself, lest Lyna be forced to do it for her. Begrudgingly lowering her voice, Morrigan continued, "It would benefit your people far more to answer our questions than to make doomed men comfortable."

Lanaya sighed heavily again and nodded. "Perhaps you are correct, but…All the Dalish have is our people and our love and compassion for each other. Without that, we are no better than the shemlen. I am sorry I cannot be of more help; I truly do hope you succeed."

Morrigan was about to spout off about their chances of doing so with what "help" the clan was providing them when she caught the warning look in Lyna's eye again. She released an irate breath through her nose and matched the other woman's stare for a few seconds before conceding the argument.

"Thank you for your time, Lanaya, we will not keep you further," Lyna replied before bowing her head in parting and headed back to where she had previously been sorting the supplies the clan's craftsman had provided her with.

The conversation with Lanaya left Morrigan even more wary than she had been before. It was one thing to shoo them off because of prior concerns, and one could even accept that explaining a curse to a storyteller might be for naught if it was beyond his comprehension, but it was utterly inconceivable that Zathrian would keep his own apprentice guessing when she was equally as responsible for caring for the cursed hunters. One could not hope to treat an illness without understanding the cause. There was a great deal more going on here than they were being lead to believe.

Sometime during their conversation, Alistair had managed to escape the elves with his life and now stood next to the supplies awaiting their return. Morrigan shot him a withering look before she voiced her thoughts. "It seems your keeper prefers to keep his own people in the dark as well," she said when they were finally close enough for Alistair to hear and yet still speak privately.

Alistair had a sick look on his face as said, "I hate to agree with Morrigan, but I haven't been able to get any further information out of the storyteller either."

Lyna turned to watch the clan's people as they milled about before her eyes settled on Zathrian, a vague wariness settling in to her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I simply cannot believe he would send his own people in to danger by keeping vital information from them…" Morrigan turned to watch as the mage knelt down and incanted a healing spell over a particularly distressed hunter. "Perhaps it is as Sarel said and Zathrian does not wish to see the truth…" She continued to watch for a moment before she turned her eyes down to the forest floor, her forehead crinkling in something akin to pain. "All things being equal, you are outsiders and by many Elvhen beliefs I am no better than a flat ear. If there is more to tell, and I doubt there is," Lyna said, shooting both Morrigan and Alistair pointed looks. "It is unlikely that we will find it out—especially if it involves clan secrets," Lyna finally allowed. "We must do right by these hunters, regardless of what information is or is not being kept from us."

Morrigan eyeballed the shorter woman for a long moment, considering her options. She could not afford to antagonize Lyna further at this point. She was no fool, and she understood that while they shared a unique camaraderie, Lyna still trusted the Dalish more than she trusted any shemlen, friend or not. Slowly releasing a deep sigh, Morrigan replied, "I hope you are right. Without a deeper knowledge of this curse there is a great potential for things to go awry."

Lyna didn't give any indication that she agreed with Morrigan, but she didn't deny the statement either. It was something, she supposed. "I need to finish preparing," Lyna informed Morrigan and Alistair. "I suggest you both eat and get some rest; our journey will not be an easy one," glancing over to where Sten had stood imitating a pillar for the past hour, she continued, "Morrigan, perhaps you could convince Sten to stop scaring the clan?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, mildly annoyed at being sent on an errand, but turned away to do as she was bid. The giant was pleasing enough to the eye to make the task bearable…and it would take her right past Zathrian. She intended to have one last word with the devious elf.

As she approached Zathrian, she glanced back over her shoulder to be sure Lyna was properly distracted with her task before she veered off to speak with him. "We have spoken with your apprentice," Morrigan informed the man as she came to a stop.

"And what did she have to say?" Zathrian quipped, clearly annoyed at the distraction but refusing to take his eyes or his mind off his work.

"Not much that might be of use…you have been Keeper here for a very long time," Morrigan eluded, watching Zathrian for any sign, any twitch or shift of an eyeball that might indicate she'd touched a nerve. There was none.

"That's true; hundreds of years, if you must know," Zathrian replied. "Slowly, the Dalish will all know the agelessness of the Elvhen. For now, only a few of us have regained that ability. But I cannot say any more on that."

"Indeed, the clan's secret's must be protected at all costs," Morrigan mocked snidely. "She also told us you have lost much, but would not elaborate."

There was the twitch. "Why do you bother me with such trifles while my men lay dying?" Zathrian demanded, now standing and turning away from his patient to give Morrigan his full attention.

"The Warden may think you to be some sort of messiah, but I do not trust you," she spat venomously.

Zathrian exchanged glares with her for a moment. "I have lost much to these werewolves, and they are about to take more from me if the cure is not found," He hissed back. Here was a man clearly unfamiliar with being challenged. "I do not wish to dwell on the past, it is too painful. Just help, if you can, or leave us to our misery."

Morrigan snorted in her derision. "I would be inclined to let you all die, but it is not my decision," She replied before turning to leave. "I sincerely hope that Lyna's trust in you is not unfounded." With that she departed. She doubted Zathrian would consider her final words to him beyond the ending of their conversation, but she still foolishly hoped he would come to his senses.

She still foolishly hoped Lyna would come to her senses and leave this quest alone, but since that seemed unlikely, she would bide her time and watch how this bit of intrigue played out. Perhaps there would be another chance to learn the truth once they entered the Brecilian Forest, and barring that, perhaps she would have another chance to reason with Lyna without endangering her own place in this quest.

* * *

A/N: Thanks everyone for your comments and your patience with me and my slow updates. Also, I'd like to give an extra big thank you to DoorbellSpider, who keeps me on my toes with challenging and thought provoking reviews. I decided that as much as I want to really focus on Lyna's development through the Dalish quest, I wanted to write this chapter from Morrigan's perspective. Morrigan has insight in the conversations with Zathrian and Lanaya that Lyna can't quite grasp because she isn't a mage, and she is unlikely to ask herself the kinds of questions that would make for an interesting chapter since we got to view her denial and hesitant suspicion in the last chapter. Also, I will be permanently moving the author's notes to the end of the chapter so there's a little bit less of a break in the story for the reader.


	16. Chapter 16

The forest's silence was deafening, as if the trees themselves dared not utter a noise. Their branches even seemed to arch away from the scene in fear. Her grip went slack and there was a sharp metallic echo that mercilessly sliced through the air as her blades clattered out of her hand and against rocks that protruded from the ground. Her empty hands shook and she took two wobbly steps back from the now motionless body before her...what had she done?

It was not as if she had never killed before. If anything, bodies seemed to pile up around her of late. But not like this...this woman had been one of her own. Her features had been twisted by the werewolves' curse but despite the muscle and fur, under the howls and ferocious growling Lyna could clearly hear the woman's brogue accent, marking her as Dalish. She was not the first elf to kill another elf, but this woman...this was not the honorable death of a hunter in a battle between feuding clans. This woman—Danyla, she had called herself—was an innocent, caught between the werewolves and the elves and forced to pay the price of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And had that been the sum total of her sins it would have been bad enough, but it was not. In her pain, the woman had begged for an end and Lyna had refused. Kneeling down before the heaving body of the great beast, she told her she intended to bring an end to the curse and if Danyla could just be strong for a little while longer…but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears as the tortured werewolf cried out that she would make an end herself and lunged.

It had all happened so fast…so unbelievably fast. If Danyla had lunged straight for Lyna she could have defended herself without causing the woman any real harm; a quick step to the right and a hard cuff to the back of the head to knock her unconscious. She might have tracked them and attempted suicide by warden again, but then again she was in so much pain…instead, she had lunged up and over Lyna's head. The small amount of Dalish logic still left in her brain had probably told her to go for one of the humans; they would have far fewer scruples against killing a lowly elf, and a sword the size of Alistair's would get the job done far more quickly than any of Morrigan's spells.

Lyna whirled around and launched herself after the beast without a moment's hesitation. She felt the twin blades of her Dar'Misu meet bone and, after a moment's resistance, slide cleanly through it. Thick warm blood squirted from matching wounds and coated her hands and lower arms. The enormous body went slack and fell to the ground beneath her. With one difficult final breath Danyla had uttered three words, "Ma serannas, Lethallan."

What had she done?

She stared in horror at the corpse before her. She watched as the werewolf's curse released its hold and it slowly transformed back into the frail form of a Dalish woman. The sight slammed in to her like a stone wall and she barely managed to choke back a horrified sob. She felt her knees give out but before they had the chance to meet the rocky soil, strong arms encircled her waist to hold her up. The support should have been comforting. She should have turned in to his shoulder and cried out in her denial and grief. Instead, her mind took that moment to remind her just who was holding her up; the human for whom she had just killed another Dalish.

"Do not touch me, Shem!" she spat as she wrenched herself out of his arms. Alistair just stood there, his mouth agape, his arms frozen in confusion as she glared at him, tears threatening to break the dam and cascade down her cheeks. Her eyes turned back to the body as disgust for Alistair and for herself welled up in her chest. She turned away from the just as the tears overflowed and bolted for the seclusion of the forest.

"Lyna, wait!" she heard him call after her, but she kept running. She ran as hard and as fast as her legs could carry her. She stumbled over logs and through streams, and she nearly fell more times than she could count, and still she ran. She tore through the forest until her joints hurt and her lungs burned for air. She pushed herself until she finally collapsed at the base of a cliff and could go no further, and then she let the grief take her. She cried for what felt like forever, reliving the dreadful scene over and over again until she was numb.

It was hours until the others found her again. She'd hardly bothered to cover her tracks, but by the time they found her, the sky had been dark for hours and they'd had to resort to Morrigan's magic to follow her path.

"Twas incredibly foolish of you to run off like that," Morrigan informed her when they finally came upon her, curled up in the fetal position, staring morosely off in to space. Morrigan didn't continue when Lyna failed to respond and instead went about setting up camp in the clearing a half dozen feet away.

Now, Lyna stared into the distant campfire that had somehow magically appeared in the center of the nearby camp an hour ago, lost in thoughts that closely mirrored the ones she'd been having since Danyla's death. She had lost hold of her anger at Alistair. It was unfair to accuse him of the woman's death when it was she that had wielded the blade. Blaming him for being the one Danyla chose to threaten was like blaming Danyla for placing herself before the werewolf that bit her.

"She chose her end. You know that, right?" she heard Leliana's delicately accented voice ask long before her mind registered the taller woman standing in the brush before her.

"It wasn't the end she deserved," Lyna answered angrily, though the anger was self-directed.

"Perhaps," Leliana nodded. "But not all of us get the chance to choose our fate. In troubled times, that alone can be a great gift."

"She didn't have to choose that one!" Lyna nearly cried as she turned her face up to meet the other woman's gaze. "I was going to end the curse, I could have saved her."

"You do not know that," Leliana hushed as she knelt down and laid a hand on Lyna's shoulder. "Of course we will do our best, but we have known since we left the Dalish camp that Witherfang's heart may not break the curse." To that Lyna had no answer. She did know it; Morrigan had made it a point to say so over and over again, but Lyna chose to march on just as stubbornly as ever. Maybe it wouldn't work, but she had to believe that it would, otherwise she might not fight as hard and if she didn't fight hard enough they might miss out on some chance that it would. And Lyna was accustomed to getting her way, even if only through sheer force of will.

"What if there is no cure?" Leliana asked. "That poor woman's suffering would have continued, and then she would have found some other way to end her life."

Lyna snorted and rolled her eyes as she turned her attention back to the far off fire. "You understand my people so little…" When Leliana didn't say anything in response, Lyna continued. "Falon'Din told the ancient Dalish that suicide does not end our suffering, but rather dooms us to relive it until we learn the lesson that suffering was meant to teach. She may not suffer in the same way in her next life, but she will suffer just as much, again and again until her soul learns what it is supposed to learn."

"Then it seems to me your anger should be with Danyla and not with Alistair and yourself," Leliana responded.

Lyna's expression darkened with self-directed animosity. "My anger is for myself and myself alone," She quietly replied.

"That is not the impression you gave the rest of us," Leliana said.

"Alistair is not the one who wielded the blade," Lyna replied. "Alistair is not the one who betrayed one of his people to protect the life of someone he was raised to hate. I didn't have to kill her," Lyna informed the bard. "If she had attacked me, I could have knocked her out; incapacitated her long enough to determine whether or not she could be saved. When she went for Alistair…"

A look crossed Leliana's features that spoke of understanding, though the expression seemed to speak of comprehending something more than just the impulse to protect a team mate. "Ah, I see."

"I am no better than some flat-eared dog, bowing and scraping to serve her master," Lyna spat.

Leliana could not suppress the shocked laugh that escaped her lips. "Now _that_ I completely disagree with," Leliana declared. "You may be Dalish, but you are also a Grey Warden."

"So everyone keeps reminding me," Lyna groused.

"You did not protect a human by killing a fellow Dalish," Leliana clarified. "And that is because Alistair is _not_ just some faceless shemlen. You did what you did to protect a fellow Grey Warden from an attack."

"I did not have to kill her to do that!" Lyna snapped.

"Perhaps…perhaps not," Leliana sighed. "In the end, she may not have given you a choice. That is one of the many horrible things about battle; when the dust settles, what's done cannot be undone. We must suffer the consequences of our actions…but like you said; our souls must learn the lessons that our pain is trying to teach us and move on."

Lyna was quiet for a long time as she watched the flames of the campfire dance. What Leliana said did nothing to alleviate her inner turmoil, but it rang of more truth that Lyna was capable of ignoring. "It is highly unfair of you to use my own words against me," she conceded.

Leliana smiled in response. "It is, but then you can be very wise when you want to be." Leliana released a deep sigh before she continued. "Now, maybe you could speak some of these thoughts to Alistair? He wants very much to lend you his shoulder, but he's afraid you may bite it off if he does."

Lyna nodded, almost imperceptibly and after giving her shoulder one last comforting squeeze and a terribly Orlesian kiss on the cheek, Leliana rose to fetch Alistair. Yet again, Lyna had taken her anger out on him. He deserved a much better friend than her, but the Dread Wolf, it seemed, had a sense of humor. Fate may have decreed that he be stuck with her, but she needed to do better and she knew it. The only problem was that all she could think to do was to apologize.

"Whatever it is that I've done, I want you to know I'm sorry," Alistair said as he approached, the brush rustling around his knees.

Lyna shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I was angry with myself because I killed her in order to protect you."

Alistair's face darkened. "Oh."

Horrified realization of what she had just said quickly dawned and she scrambled to backpedal out of the statement. "No, please, I don't mean it like that!" Lyna hurried. When he cocked an eyebrow at her she continued. "I killed a Dalish, one of my own people, in the defense of a shemlen and…" she trailed off when his expression darkened further. "I'm making such a mess of this…" She sighed before taking a deep breath and deciding to start over. "Danyla was an innocent, and I killed her without a second thought because she threatened you. In the clans, the highest crime conceivable is to hurt or kill another Dalish; there are so few of us. You are my friend and my companion in battle, but…you are still human and therefore everything I was raised to hate. To have committed that crime for someone I am _supposed_ to hate…" Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she quickly looked away as she tried to bring her emotions back under control.

There was a long silence and for a while she feared she had not been able to avoid offending him. But finally he knelt down in front of her and softly said, "You didn't kill her, Lyna."

"How can you say that? My hands are still covered in her blood!" Lyna cried.

"Remember what Zathrian said when we were in the Dalish camp?" Alistair asked. "The curse brings great agony and then either death or transformation."

"Yes, and she didn't die, she transformed," Lyna replied.

"It's not that simple, apparently," He said. "Morrigan says they all transform, but not all of them can survive the transformation and that is was kills them. Think about it; have any of the other werewolves we've encountered been in any pain that we could see?"

Lyna opened her mouth to say that it was probably hard to tell if they were in pain when they were trying to rip you to pieces and then stopped. Now that she thought about it, when they had encountered Swiftrunner and his lieutenants, they had not seemed to be in any pain at all. They had growled and threatened and circled their company on all fours as if about to pounce on a particularly tasty kill, but their actions had been calm, calculating and fluid; as graceful as a wolf stalking his prey. "No…at least not until we dealt it to them," she finally replied.

Alistair nodded, having already known the answer. "Danyla's transformation was complete so the pain should have been lessening, if not gone all together."

Realization dawned and she sighed in defeat. "She was dying anyway…"

Alistair was silent for a moment, appearing to debate something in his head before he hesitantly reached out his arm and laid his hand on her shoulder and then began rubbing her arm soothingly. "Morrigan believes the damage the curse did to her body was too great to be repaired once the transformation was over. You didn't kill her, Lyna; you eased her passing."

Lyna thought on that for a while, still not at peace with her role in things, but eventually she released a heavy sigh. "Maybe so…but that doesn't absolve me of my abrupt willingness to turn my back on my people's beliefs."

He probably didn't really understand that particular struggle, considering Lyna knew he was happy to disregard the chantry's teachings when it suited him. At that moment however, an unexpected smile swept across his lips. "I may be a human and you may be an elf, but you are also my friend," he said. "I would never let anyone—man, elf or dwarf—harm you, even if it meant killing them. So…maybe not everything your people believe is correct…"

Lyna just stared at him, dumbfounded. "I can't think what I've done to deserve that?"

Alistair shrugged, a wry smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Who said you had to do anything? Maybe that's just the way I am."

"You are a far better friend than I have any right to. I can't begin to think how to make it up to you," Lyna admitted, more embarrassed than ever at her own interpersonal failings.

The wry smile on Alistair's face became outright mischievous. "I'm sure I could come up with a few ideas…" he drawled cheekily. Lyna's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she continued to stare, unsure of how to respond. A month ago she'd have had a knife to his jugular for even inferring…but no. No, Alistair was just being a child, as usual. He was a human and she was an elf and that just wasn't done. He didn't mean anything by it…_did he?_ She wondered. As they exchanged gazes, the mischievous twinkly in his eye dulled and was replaced by something entirely different; if she'd been pressed, she would have called it uncertainty but it was more than that. No doubt he'd directed reasonably similar expressions at her before, usually right before telling her something that would displease her, but this time it was tinged with something else; hopefulness or possibly some personal wish. It was most certainly odd.

He took a deep, calming breath and exhaled it loudly. "Here," he said as he turned away and reached in to his pack. She hadn't even noticed him carrying it when he first approached. She really must have been losing her touch. "Look at this," he continued as he turned back towards and held out his hand. In it he cupped a flower, a rose, though it hardly resembled one anymore. She took it. Its petals were still bright red, albeit a bit darker that they might have been when it was alive, and they were hard and crunchy like autumn leaves. Additionally, it was almost completely flattened. It had a strange, gruesome beauty to it and it triggered images in her head of elves _in uthenara_, the long sleep or endless dream her ancestors entered when they tired of life.

"Do you know what this is?" Alistair asked when she failed to comment on the rose.

Lyna rolled her eyes and allowed the corner of her mouth to turn upwards. "Is this a trick question? It's a dead flower," she replied perceptively.

Alistair smirked. "Yes, absolutely. I am trying to trick you. Was it working?" he asked, pretending to search her face for a sign of success. When he found none he continued, "Aw, I just about had you though, didn't I?" He stopped to laugh at his own joke for a moment. "And for the record, it's a _pressed_ flower, not a dead flower."

"It is still clearly dead," Lyna argued.

"Well…yes, but that's not the point," he pouted amicably.

Lyna couldn't help the arching of her eyebrow. "There's a point to this?"

"Yes, there is," Alistair informed her, his eyes narrowing with vague irritation. "And if you'd stop being so contrarian, I'd tell you." Lyna nodded and pressed her lips together in silent agreement not to say another word. Alistair arched an eyebrow at her as if to say 'really?' And when she nodded, he smiled again and turned and lowered himself to the ground beside her. The arm that had previously caressed her shoulder now circled behind her—though not all the way around her—as Alistair leaned in on his side to relate the story of the dead rose. They didn't touch, but he sat so close that her heart still fluttered in her chest. "I picked it in Lothering," he told her somberly, his breath tickling the hairs that brushed her cheeks. "I remember thinking, 'how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, seeing as there was no way I could have kept it alive, but I couldn't," he paused for a moment as the smile he'd carried before faded from his lips and his voice. "The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it, so I've had it ever since."

The story was sweet, really; the irony and determination of life flourishing amid death and chaos. Still, unless all he wanted to do was hand her something pretty, she failed to see whatever point he believed he was making. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, a little breathlessly.

He paused, as if unsure about whether or not to go on. "I thought that I might…give it to you, actually," he replied and his eyes came up from the rose in her hand to settle on her face. Lyna turned her head to return the gaze and quickly realized their faces were less than a foot apart. "In a lot of ways I think the same thing when I look at you."

Lyna scrunched up her brow in confusion. "You…want to save the defenseless flower?" she asked quietly.

"The _defenseless_ flower? No. I…don't know that I'd put it that way," he chuckled quietly. "I am familiar enough with you to know that you prefer to do your own damseling…I just thought," he paused as he reached out and rested his other hand on her knee. "You haven't exactly been having a good time of it; You've had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden since your joining, not a word of thanks or congratulations…You lost everything before you even came to Ostagar, and then Duncan…" He stopped and quietly swallowed back the pang of grief that seemed to come with saying the man's name. "Since then you've stepped up and taken on the duty of leader without anyone asking you if that was what you wanted, you've been there for me when I couldn't handle my own loss, and now you are trying to help potentially doomed strangers rather than lose a possible ally. It's been all death and fighting and tragedy and I thought…maybe I could say something; let you know what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amid all this…darkness."

"The King congratulated me before the battle," Lyna blurted awkwardly and regretted it immediately when the intimate mood suddenly evaporated.

Alistair blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry…come again?" he asked.

"The King," Lyna repeated quickly. "You said no one's congratulated me, but the King did during the strategy meaning before the battle at Ostagar."

"Oh, I see," He replied pleasantly, though the warmth was rapidly diminishing as he leaned away to sit upright. "That's good then, that someone's said something to you."

"Not that a shemlen king's opinion means anything to me," Lyna hurried, wondering what she'd said wrong. Of course she'd said something wrong, he was pulling away, but…she always said the wrong thing; she'd said the wrong thing several times in the space of their short conversation. What was so much more wrong now?

"No of course not," He replied awkwardly.

"I just wanted to be sure you had all the facts," She said.

"Yes," he nodded quickly. "Yes, very good of you. Thank you."

Lyna searched his face and his posture for an answer to what was suddenly bothering him, but finding none, her shoulders slumped and she let out a frustrated sigh as she turned her head to look off towards the camp again. There they were, having a nice moment—more than nice, actually—and she simply _had_ to ruin it by running her mouth again. Not that the moment should have happened in the first place; she was still mourning Tamlen and now she was mourning Danyla and her seeming inability to adhere to the teachings of her people and desperately trying to save her sister clan from annihilation by magical werewolf curse. Close, quiet moments with shemlen should be the last thing on her mind right now.

The sudden silence between them stretched out as Lyna continued to castigate herself until finally, Alistair spoke up. "Sorry…it was just a, uh, just a stupid impulse. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he muttered.

In all of a second Lyna was back at attention, her back straight and her eyes wide as she whipped her head around to look at him. "No, you didn't," she assured him. "I'm sorry for being so difficult."

"No," Alistair stopped her, shaking his head. "You're not being difficult…at least not this time." A smirk snuck up on him again as he said the second part. "Just so we're clear; you're not uncomfortable. Giving you the rose wasn't the wrong impulse to follow…?"

Lyna smiled in return. "No, it wasn't. Thank you, Alistair. It's lovely."

Alistair's smirk spread in a mirroring smile and he nodded once emphatically. "Good. Now, let's go get some dinner and then I think you should get some rest. It's been a rough day for you; I can stand watch alone for tonight." Lyna nodded her agreement and her thanks as Alistair stood and then reached down and helped her to her feet. She was tired and sleep would be more than welcome. She only hoped tomorrow would be easier, but something in the heaviness of the forest told he that was unlikely.

* * *

**A/N:** I skipped ahead a little since there's a good chance that I could draw the whole Nature of the Beast Quest out until kingdom come. I figure that during the quest there really are only a few pivotal moments for our heroine and her knight in shining armor, so I'll just write those instead of dragging you all through the encounters with Swiftrunner and Deygan and the Old Oak and the crazy hermit, etc. The next chapter will round out the Dalish portion of the story and from there I will either head straight in to Redcliffe or I will make a quick stop at Soldier Peak to solidify a base of operations. Let me know what you think, because personally, I don't know if Lyna is ready to do the whole seeing-her-people-as-servants thing yet or not.

Also, where Lyna says that committing suicide dooms an elf to relive their suffering over and over again until they learn to endure it is actually passed on wiccan/neo-pagan beliefs on suicide since that is the religion I am basing my dalish culture around.


	17. Chapter 17

Lyna was silent the entire journey back to the Dalish camp, but her anger was like the proverbial elephant in the room; no one said anything, but it was always present. It came in waves, sometimes simmering softly below the surface, while at other times it was scant millimeters from boiling over and spilling all over everyone. If questioned, she would nod in the affirmative, or shake her head in the negative. If an enquiry required much more of a response, she remained as mono-syllabic as possible, and if pushed for more one could expect to watch her temper boil up towards that breaking point she was so valiantly struggling with. For his part, Alistair was slowly learning when not to poke the bear.

Usually enduring several days of her temper tantrums would have been the point where he snapped and yelled back, told her she was being unreasonable, but considering how things had gone in the ruins he couldn't really blame her. For nearly two months now, she had repeatedly lauded the Dalish values to anyone who would listen. Just yesterday she had vehemently insisted that the most important thing to any Dalish elf anywhere was the health and safety of their people. When they had entered the Dalish camp she had practically worshipped at the ancient keeper's feet, and when they had discovered the state of the clan's affairs, she had all but swallowed Zathrian's lies hook line and sinker. In the space of half an hour Zathrian had made a fool and a liar out of her, but that paled next to the greater of his sins.

'You are _Keeper_!' She had nearly screamed at him. 'You and you alone are responsible for the safety of the clan and it is you who created the curse that is killing them now! You do not deserve the honor of your title, and I sincerely hope that the dread wolf finds you.' As she passed Morrigan on their way back down to the werewolves' lair, she had hissed between her teeth, 'if he survives this, remind me to have him banished when we return to the camp.' When the man collapsed, having willingly ended both the curse and his life, she'd stood glaring at his body for close to half an hour. 'Hardly seems like justice,' she finally muttered to Alistair as he gently took hold of her shoulders and steered her away.

Now they stood just beyond the boundaries of Dalish territory, the telltale markers appearing on the trees up ahead. Lyna's hand grabbed hold of Alistair's arm as she brought the party to a halt. "I cannot be the one to inform Keeper Lanaya of what has happened," she said to no one in particular, her eyes glued to the forest floor as she struggled with her temper. When no one responded after a moment, she continued. "I am not very good at delivering bad news, and…" The fires in her eyes spark and she took a deep, calming breath. "While I personally feel that _elvhen'alas_ deserves far worse than he received…it would be unkind to his clan to add to their grief. Would one of you tell Keeper Lanaya what has become of him?" she asked, finally raising her eyes to meet theirs at her request.

Alistair was relieved when Leliana piped up before he could. "I will do it, if you like," she said. Lyna nodded her thanks to the taller woman and then walked past Alistair and on towards the camp, resuming her stoicism.

Once they entered the camp Leliana went about the duty of informing Keeper Lanaya and Hahren Sarel of the clan's loss. She gave no details, simply stated that Zathrian had given his life to end the curse and then agreed to remain with the clan until after Hahren Sarel sang the dirge for all the departed and the clan had the chance to properly thank them and celebrate their success.

The party after the funeral started off somber. Most of the conversations were quiet as people shared memories of their deceased friends and families. Some of the elves walked the shadows of the camp carrying their blue flame lanterns as they sang the Elvish Eulogy. Their voices were haunting and beautiful, touching his very core and nearly bringing a tear to Alistair's eye. As the night deepened, however, the songs became lighter, the memories happier and eventually every elf in the vicinity was singing, dancing and making merry. At long last the remaining hunters joined, the majority of the curse eliminated from their bodies. Sitting on one of the benches near the fire, drinking and laughing right along with them, Alistair couldn't have hidden his smile if he'd wanted to.

"So it is done," a voice said from behind him. When he looked up, Lanaya smiled and nodded her greeting. "All traces of the curse have been lifted from the hunter's blood," she informed him before her kind smile faltered a little. "It is too bad Zathrian had to die. I…felt it when he died. I think he was ready to go." Alistair wasn't really sure what to say to that, but Lyna had insisted that they not impugn Zathrian's honor to the clan. So, instead of lying to the new Keeper about Zathrian's honor, or making up some other socially acceptable tripe, he simply scooted over on the bench and motioned for her to sit. She did and Alistair waited for her to say more.

"It will be difficult to fill Zathrian's shoes," she continued. "He was our Keeper for many centuries and he will be sorely missed…" She took a deep breath, as if the crisp night air of the forest would bring her strength. With all her ancient Elvhen magic, who's to say it wouldn't? "But I am keeper now. Let me say it officially then: I hereby swear to uphold the terms of the ancient contract our people formed with the Grey Wardens."

"Thank you Keeper," Alistair nodded graciously.

"It will be some time," She informed him, as if warning him against expecting miracles. "The damage to our hunters' bodies will take time to heal, and then they will need to regain their strength before they can fight," She stopped for a moment, looking wistfully at the clan celebrating all around them. "It has been a long time since the Dalish marched to war, but I trust that we will make a difference for you."

Alistair's facial features hardened and he nodded with confidence. "I know that you will," he assured her.

Lanaya smiled in thanks for the vote of confidence before looking around the camp again, though this time she wasn't simply observing, she was searching. "I was hoping to speak with Lyna, but none have seen her since the funeral began."

Alistair smirked. "I am hardly surprised," he said. "Lyna's not good with difficult emotions; disappearing seems to be her solution."

Lanaya gave a small, sad, yet understanding smile. "I cannot imagine it would be easy to mourn the passing of a man whose actions you do not condone."

That comment brought him up short and his mug of ale—he had totally failed to offer to get the Keeper one, he belatedly realize—froze half way to his mouth. "Wait. Did you know about Zathrian's connection to the curse?" It seemed so unlikely. This young elf seemed so kind and unassuming and yet…Morrigan had spoken to her and made it clear to Lyna that Zathrian's First knew more about the curse than she was letting on, as did Zathrian himself. Of course he'd never suspected Morrigan was lying, not about something like that, but to see Lanaya confirm it…he watched as she suddenly aged before his eyes.

"I suspected, but…Zathrian did not like to talk about that." Alistair saw her now as she really was; as kind and unassuming as she had seemed before, but now weighed down by the burden of love and loyalty to her mentor. "We argued after you left," She said. Her voice was suddenly weak and distant, as if she was watching the disagreement play out before her again. "I was already angry with him for sending our hunters in to the forest blind. I could not stand by while he did the same to you," She said before turning sparkling eyes on him. "I would like to say that is what sent him in to the woods after you, but…" She took a steadying breath and shook her head to clear the thoughts. "None the less, the curse is over, and no one else will be subjected to it."

"Indeed," Alistair nodded. "But I think it is more than that for Lyna." She paused, considering the ale in his cup. "I suspect that our temperamental leader is feeling a bit betrayed. Not personally," he assured the young Keeper. "But to hear her talk, you'd think the Maker himself couldn't touch the Dalish…when she's up to talking about it, I half expect her to compare it to something a '_shemlen_' would do," he finished, his voice raising to imitate his companion's on the slur.

Lanaya nodded and smiled that understanding smile again. "It is unfortunately true that most of the Dalish feel that way, and I would be hard pressed to believe it will ever change."

The statement seemed…uncharacteristic for a Dalish, though Lyna was the only Dalish he'd ever encountered. Still…"But you want it to change?" He asked

Lanaya shrugged. "I was not born amongst the Dalish," She replied. "Zathrian saved me from the bandits that killed my mother and father and then brought me to the clan to be raised among them. Human society has always held some fascination for me and I suspect I will always feel to some minute degree an outsider here, but I could never leave the clan; they are my home. I just wish that the Dalish could be more open-minded."

"That would certainly make my life easier," Alistair replied, his mind focusing again on Lyna. What was it about that infuriating woman that kept her always in his thoughts?

Lanaya couldn't help the giggle that escaped upon witnessing his long suffering smirk. "From what little of her I have seen, she does seem quite stubborn."

"You have no idea," Alistair replied wearily.

"Do not give up on her," Lanaya replied. "I suspect her rough edges merely serve to protect a heart that cares too deeply."

Alistair stopped to consider the information. Lyna _did_ care too deeply; her insistence on plunging headlong in to a quest to save her sister clan, her blind faith in Zathrian, her emotional melt down when Danyla forced her hand…it all made sense. Only a few days ago she had told him he was a better friend than she deserved. Considering the loss of both her lover and then her clan…it made perfect sense. She was afraid; not of him, not of trusting him, but of letting herself care and then losing the only thing she had left.

He turned to look again at Lanaya, who almost seemed a bit smug as she watched him come to his little epiphany. "I apologize, Lanaya, but I need to speak with my fellow Warden." Lanaya nodded, having already expected his response.

He found her after about an hour; he was getting much better at reading her tracks, and that was saying something considering she was quite good at covering them. She'd gone to the small clearing beside the waterfall where they had first encountered Swiftrunner and had clearly been shooting at trees, bushes and the occasional small animal. The sight of the clearing peppered with arrows probably should had surprised him, or maybe even made him nervous. He had been before, possibly would have been even earlier this afternoon, but with his epiphany came the understanding that while she might threaten horribly gruesome ways of disfiguring him, she would never actually do them. Still, he was glad he had the good fortune of approaching her from behind. Capable of cold blooded murder or not, he still preferred the arrows be pointed away from him.

"What do you want Alistair?" She demanded without looking back at him.

"And here I thought I was being so sneaky…" he replied.

"A durgen'len would have heard you coming," She replied dryly, still focused on whatever her target was. Honestly, he wasn't sure she actually had one. It was terribly dark and the light coming off the nearby lantern was insignificant.

"Have you ever even met a dwarf?" Alistair asked. She sighed with irritation and lowered her bow. When she shrugged and shook her head in the negative, he continued. "So what makes you think their hearing isn't just as good as yours." She turned and gave him a rather incredulous look. She didn't say a word, just simply pointed to her ears. "And here I thought they were just for show," he replied with a playful wink.

"Again Alistair, what do you want?" She asked, a little more forcefully this time.

Alistair sobered, but the playful smile didn't completely fade from his lips. "I wanted to see how you're doing," He replied. "No one's seen you since the funeral rites began, and there's a pretty wild party going on back at the camp. It'd be a shame to miss it, really."

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she didn't tell him to shut up and go away, so that was something. It took her another moment to respond, but she did when she finally decided his question was serious, even if his tone wasn't. "I am fine," she replied, turning to nock her arrow again.

Alistair rolled his eyes and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her back around. The resulting fire in her eyes made him wince inwardly, but it took him only a second longer to see the fear and uncertainty it covered. Ah insider knowledge, the great equalizer… "I don't believe you," he informed her shortly.

"What?" She asked, her voice betraying the strange combination of anger, surprise and hesitation he'd already seen in her eyes.

"I said," He paused for effect. "I don't believe you." When she said nothing, he decided it was time to go on the offensive. "I think that you're struggling with the decision to keep Zathrian's involvement with the curse from the clan; he's lower than dirt, he deserves to be brought back to life just so he can be banished by the clan and he most certainly does not deserve to be mourned and remembered like the honored elder he pretended to be. Problem is he's dead; telling them that he caused all this pain and suffering only serves to increase said pain and suffering. While you want nothing more than to punish him for every misstep he's ever taken, his clan does not deserve anymore hardship. After all, they're about to go to war for us."

By the time he had finished, Lyna had completely deflated. She looked up at him, her frustration with the whole situation lay bare across her face. "Am I so obvious?"

Alistair smiled again and shook his head. "No, I just understand you a _lot_ better than you think."

"That's why I couldn't stay for the funeral," she replied. "I didn't think I could hide my disgust."

Alistair smiled and chuckled a little at the fiery Elvhen woman completely defeated by her emotions. Without a second thought, he pulled her in to his arms for a consoling hug. He felt her stiffen, her hands frozen halfway between hugging him back and pushing him away and it was now that his brain chose to kick in and second guess the decision. 'Hello! What the hell do you think you're doing!?' it demanded. And 'you know she'll probably kill you for this.' And of course, 'So how do you plan on killing the archdemon without the use of your arms?' He supposed he could always try to learn the art of hand-to-hand combat from the Silent Sisters in Orzammar…so long as they altered it to be more of a foot-to-foot discipline. He'd heard stories about a sister who'd once been a warden…she could snap a hurlock's neck with her thighs…

Her hands finally unfroze and slowly, tentatively they settled on his waist. His thoughts returning to the situation at hand, he sucked in a deep breath and waited for her to push him away…but the moment never came. Instead, she bowed her head to rest her forehead against his chest and heaved a deep and troubled sigh. He released his breath an instant later, relief flooding his system. He would not lose his arms today.

"You're doing the right thing, Lyna," He finally said. She leaned back to meet his gaze and then stared back full of doubt. "You are," he assured her. "Nothing good would come from telling them what a horrible thing he did. The curse has been lifted and we have the allies we came here to find." She looked down and nodded, but her eyes were still boring self-doubt holes in his chest. He wouldn't have any more of that. Tucking one finger under her chin, he lifted her face back up so he could look her in the eyes again. "I know this has been hard for you. This was supposed to be your home coming, happy times and what not. And the way you've handled it all?"

"Yes, I know, 'not the best' doesn't seem to aptly cover it," she groused.

"No, admirably," he corrected, forcefully denying her the castigation she was looking for. "You were determined to save this clan, no matter the consequences. I dare say even Morrigan was worried you'd run us all off a cliff. But…once you learned the truth, somehow you convinced a centuries-old mage to give his life not only for his clan, but for the men he blamed the murder, rape and suicide of his children on." Her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head to try and hide it, but she didn't say anything. "Like I said; admirably," he repeated.

She nodded, still blushing at his praise, and finally accepted his view of it.

With that, he gave her another squeeze, attempting to reassure her just the tiniest bit more. "Now, shall we return to the party?" He asked.

Lyna nodded her agreement. "We shall, just…" she stopped to look around her at the veritable war zone she had created. "Give me a few minutes to clean up?" She asked. "Arrows…well, fine quality _Dalish_ arrows will be hard to come by once we leave the camp." And with that she began carefully extracting arrows from tree and bush and mound and carcass.

Alistair nodded. "I'll meet you back at camp then," he replied as he headed off down the path. Just as he was about to step beyond the boundary of the lantern's dull glow he stopped and turned half way back around. "And Lyna…?"

"Yes?" she replied absently as she continued with her task.

"I'm not going anywhere," he told her, all trace of mischief or frivolity erased from his face. His gravity caught her attention and she was trapped and held motionless by the weight of his voice and all the unspoken meanings his statement could possibly mean.

"Where should I think you would be going?" she asked, utterly unable to guess his meaning.

He smiled again now. "Nowhere, I just wanted you to know that." And with that he strode in to the dark, the sounds of celebration and drawing him back to camp.


End file.
